. 


-  \    . 

• 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


KENNEDY,    Jas.,    The    Scottish    and    American 
Poems  of.  Portrait.  Privately  printed.  N.  Y.,  1899. 

$3.00 

*  Many  relating  to  the  Highlanders  in  Tennes 
see,  with  historical  notes,  and  biographical 
sketches. 


JAMES  KENNEDY. 


The  Scottish 


AND 


American  Poems 


OF 


JANES  KENNEDY 


NEW  YORK : 

J.  S.  OGILV1E  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 
57  Rose  Street. 


COPYRIGHT,  1883,  !888,  AND  1899, 

BY 
JAMES  KENNEDY. 


PROEM. 

,  OME,  Muse  of  Scotland !  spread  thy  wing 
Like  wild  bird  seaward  journeying ; 
Leave  thy  loved  land,  to  which  belongs 
The  riches  of  thy  matchless  songs ; 
Come  in  thy  splendor,  fair  and  free, 
Like  morning  o'er  the  shining  sea! 
I  long  to  see  thy  beauteous  face, 
And  mark  thy  wild  and  winsome  grace; 
5£  And  catch,  perchance,  some  kindling  thrill 

£i  Of  that  divine,  impassioned  skill 

>.  Which  flamed  into  immortal  fire, 

2§  When  Coila's  minstrel  tuned  the  lyre, 

And  swept  its  thrilling  chords  along 
Z3  In  bursts  of  sweet,  ecstatic  song. 

What  though  fair  Scotland's  hills  and  streams 
5?  I  see  not  but  in  airy  dreams ; 

10  Thy  glowing  presence  aye  shall  be 

>-  A  joyous  all-in-all  to  me. 

By  thee,  as  by  the  green-robed  Spring, 

The  wilds  shall  burst  to  blossoming, 

And  silent  solitudes  shall  be 

Awake  with  warbled  melody. 
^  By  thee,  as  by  a  vision  bright, 

The  vacant  waste  of  viewless  night 
ca  Shall  open  to  my  wondering  eyes 

ui  The  glowing  earth,  the  azure  skies, 

The  purple  mountains  crowned  with  mist, 

Isles  set  in  seas  of  amethyst. 

And  all  the  artless  words  and  ways 

That  mark'd  the  course  of  earlier  days, 

Shall  come  revived  on  Fancy's  wing 

All  bright  in  fond  imagining. 


PROEM. 

Nor  shall  we  lack,  as  on  we  trip, 

For  gay  and  glad  companionship ; 

For  rosy  Mirth,  with  beaming  eyes, 

Shall  laugh  at  Folly's  thin  disguise ; 

While  Truth's  light,  quenchless  as  a  star, 

Shines,  beacon-like,  where'er  we  are. 

And  thou,  fair  Virtue — crowning  grace, 

Sweet  as  the  smile  on  Beauty's  face — 

O  may  the  quenchless  love  of  thee 

Our  master  motive  ever  be ! 

While  through  and  through  each  simple  song, 

The  love  of  right,  the  hate  of  wrong, 

Dwell  with  the  hope  that  dimly  sees 

The  dawn  of  broader  sympathies : 

Glow  in  the  faith  that  faintly  hears, 

A  far-off  music  in  our  ears, 

When  all  the  barriers  that  divide 

The  human  race  are  swept  aside, 

And  man  with  brother  man  shall  be 

Bless'd  in  a  happy  unity. 

Then  come,  sweet  spirit !    Lend  thy  power. 

Be  near  me  in  my  dreaming  hour ! 

Shed  thou  thy  lustrous  light  around, 

And  all  shall  seem  enchanted  ground ! 

Inspire  me  and  my  verse  shall  be 

A  river  shining  to  the  sea ! 

That  bears  upon  its  bosom  bright 

A  mirror'd  world  of  life  and  light, 

And  adds  to  Nature's  varied  tone 

A  low,  sweet  music  all  its  own. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  HIGHLANDERS  IN  TENNESSEE. 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION 9 

PART     I.    The  March  over  the  Cumberland  Mountains.  14 

PART    II.    The  Campaign  in  Eastern  Tennessee 19 

PART  IH.    The  Siege  of  Knoxville 24 

PART  IV.    The  Defense  of  Fort  Sanders 29 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

To  the  Humming  Bird 35 

To  the  Mosquitoes 37 

Whisky's  Awa' 40 

Auld  Scotia  in  the  Field 42 

Noran  Water 44 

Wee  Charlie 48 

To  my  Native  Land 50 

Angus  Rankin's  Elegy 52 

St.  Andrew  and  the  Haggis 55 

The  Monk  and  the  Spectre 57 

Lament  on  the  Departure  of  a  British  Poet 59 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Scottish  Athlete 62 

To  the  Shade  of  Burns 66 

The  Songs  of  Scotland 68 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The  Refugees 71 

The  Two  Brothers 77 

Among  the  Grampian  Hills 81 

Among  the  Catskill  Mountains 83 

In  Memoriam.     J.  C.  M 85 

SONGS. 

The  Bonnie  Lass  that's  far  Awa' 86 

Cam'  Ye  Owre  the  Fulton  Ferry  ? 87 

0  Mary,  Do  Ye  Mind  the  Day  ? 88 

Now  Simmer  Cleeds  the  Groves  in  Green 89 

Mary  wi'  the  Gowden  Hair 90 

Bonnie  Noranside 91 

Bonnie  Jean 92 

1  Wonder  if  the  Bonnie  Laddie  Thinks  on  Me 93 

LYEICAL  CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

The  Anxious  Mither 95 

The  Lichtsome  Lass 97 

The  Auld-Farrant  Carl 99 

The  Witless  Laddie 101 

The  Hotel  Keeper 105 

The  Caledonian  Chief 108 

The  Lecturer 110 

The  Play- Actor 113 

The  Peddler 116 

The  Inventor 118 

The  Curler...  .  120 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

The  Quoit  Players 123 

The  Piper 129 

The  Dandy  Dancer  132 

The  Chieftain 134 

The  Elate  Wooer 136 

The  Suffering  Citizen 138 

The  Match-Making  Luckie  140 

The  Cavalier 143 

The  Minister-Daft 146 

The  Spiritualist 148 

The  Feast  of  MacTavish 153 

The  Western  Waif 158 

The  Poacher 161 

The  Deeside  Lass 165 

The  Mournfu'  Mither 167 

The  Wife  o'  Weinsberg 169 

The  Dominie  and  the  Betheral 172 

The  Americanized  Scot 175 

The  Royal  Scot 179 

The  Wanderer 183 

OCCASIONAL  VERSES. 

A  Dedication 184 

In  the  Golden  Cage 185 

To  Queen  Alexandra 197 

To  Mrs.  J.  M.  R .198 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


Andrew  Carnegie 199 

James  Dalrymple 201 

Robert  Buchanan 203 

Alexander  J.  C.  Skene 205 

In  God  We  Trust 207 

NOTES 215 

GLOSSARY .221 


SCOTTISH  AND  AMERICAN  POEMS. 


THE  HIGHLANDERS  IN  TENNESSEE. 

"  How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blest ! " 

— Collins. 


INTRODUCTION. 

O W  brightly  through  the  vanish'd  years 
The  light  of  Scotland's  fame  appears ! 
Now  flashed  through  clouds  that  faintly  mar, 

Now  glitt'ring,  like  the  Polar  star 

That  burns  in  Northern  glory,  bright 

In  inextinguishable  light! 

In  Time's  dim  dawning  when  the  world 
Beheld  Rome's  banner  broad  unfurl' d 
And  Caesar's  legions  proudly  pass'd, 
Fierce  as  the  cyclone's  leveling  blast, 
O'er  lauds  where  freemen  battling  brave 
Bent  'neath  the  wild,  resistless  wave: 
O  Scotland,  then  thy  stalwart  race 
Defied  earth's  conquerors  face  to  face; 
In  vain  the  cohorts'  fierce  attack, 
Thy  brandish' d  broadswords  beat  them  back, 
And  Rome's  proud  legions  learned  to  fear 
Th'  unconquered  Caledonian  spear. 


10  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

But  darker  fate  awaits  the  bands 
Of  Vikings  from  their  Northern  strands 
Who,  lured  by  conquest's  golden  smiles, 
Swarm  bird-like  on  the  Scottish  isles. 
In  vain  Norwegian  maidens  weep 
For  lovers  slain  beyond  the  deep; 
In  vain  the  blazing  beacons  burn 
For  them  who  never  more  return ; 
In  restless  sobs  the  loneljr  waves 
Sigh  o'er  their  dark,  unnoticed  graves. 

But  brighter  yet  thy  luster  shone, 
O  Scotland !  when  thy  Marathon 
Beheld  the  bold  invading  host 
Strewn  like  the  flowers  in  early  frost; 
Thy  crystal  streams  with  blood  ran  red, 
Thy  green  fields  heaped  with  England's  dead; 
While  Freedom's  happy  wings  expand 
Triumphant  o'er  thy  war-worn  land ; 
Whilst  thou  in  Glory's  sacred  height 
Becom'st  a  high  set  beacon  light, 
To  which,  when  angry  tempests  lower, 
And  nations  grope  in  Fate's  dark  hour, 
Their  streaming  eyes  shall  northward  turn 
And  think  of  thee  and  Bannockburn ! 


Nor  less  each  lurid  flash  that  shows 
The  wars  of  fratricidal  foes; 
The  raids  of  lowland  cavaliers, 
The  feuds  of  martial  mountaineers, 
The  musket  flash  that  vainly  stays 
The  Covenanter's  psalm  of  praise, 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE.  11 

The  blows  of  force  by  faith  defied, 
The  gold  of  Truth  in  battle  tried, 
The  radiant  streaks  that  chase  away 
The  shadows  of  a  darker  day. 


These  come,  and  through  each  age  there  runs, 

From  stalwart  sires  to  stalwart  sons, — 

Deep  set  in  an  eternal  youth, — 

The  same  strong  love  of  right  and  truth, 

The  lion  heart,  the  iron  hand, 

That  kept  intact  their  native  land, 

Until  her  mountains  seem  to  be 

High  monuments  to  liberty ; 

Her  silv'ry  waters  flash  along 

And  murmur  into  martial  song, 

Her  storms  that  sweep  the  rustling  dales 

Bring  echoes  of  heroic  tales, 

And  ev'n  the  gray  cloud-mantled  glades 

Seem  haunted  by  heroic  shades, 

And  all  seem  vocal  with  the  sound 

Of  deeds  that  made  them  hallowed  ground. 

Nor  there  alone  where  Scotland  stands 

Enwreathed  by  Freedom's  loving  hands 

Has  valor's  royal  wreath  been  won ; 

But  far  and  near,  where'er  the  sun 

Has  shone  on  battle's  bold  array, 

On  many  a  fierce  and  fateful  day, 

Have  Lowland  might  and  Highland  zeal 

Been  writ  in  blood  and  carved  with  steel, 

Till  o'er  the  din  of  wild  alarms 

Had  triumph  crown'd  their  conquering  arms. 


12  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

Ev'n  here,  where  Freedom's  beacon  light 
Shines  o'er  Columbia  broad  and  bright, 
And  gladden'd  nations  turn  to  see 
The  starry  flag  of  Liberty, 
Whose  breezy  folds  in  peace  unfurl'd 
Wave  welcome  to  a  wond'ring  world: 
When  mad  Disunion's  threatening  hand 
Crept  like  a  shadow  o'er  the  land, 
And  hostile  States  in  war's  alarms 
Rang  with  the  clarion  call  to  arms; 
Then,  mustered  with  the  loyal  North, 
A  thousand  Scots  went  bravely  forth; 
The  flash  of  Freedom  in  their  eyes, 
And,  fierce  and  wild  as  battle  cries, 
The  war  songs  of  their  native  land 
Were  echoed  by  the  gallant  band 
In  days  of  battle  and  of  toil 
O'er  fair  Virginia's  war-worn  soil; 
Or  roused  to  life  the  listless  camps 
By  Carolina's  dreary  swamps; 
Or  rose  serene  in  triumph  grand 
Among  the  hills  of  Maryland ; 
And  oft  inspired  the  martial  ranks 
By  Mississippi's  reedy  banks; 
And  swelled  the  anthems  of  the  free 
Among  the  vales  of  Tennessee. 

By  tangled  brake  and  spreading  plain, 
In  many  a  hard  and  wild  campaign; 
O'er  trampled  fields  where  grass  grew  red 
Beside  the  grim  and  ghastly  dead, 
They  met  and  fought  the  gallant  South 
Unwavering  to  the  cannon's  mouth; 


THE   HIGHLANDERS  IN  TENNESSEE.  13 

Such  feats  as  graced  these  years  along 

Were  fitting  for  heroic  song  ;— 

For  Poesy's  highest  aim  should  be 

To  sing  of  Love  and  Liberty; 

The  love  that  through  obstruction  tries 

To  blossom  into  sacrifice : 

The  love  that  burns  till  life  expires, 

With  soul  aflame,  like  altar  fires. 

Theirs  was  the  high  heroic  zeal, 

The  noble  love  that  patriots  feel. 

Who  see  beyond  the  present  strife 

The  paths  that  lead  to  nobler  life : 

Who  feel  the  fiery  blast  that  brings 

The  truth,  like  gold,  from  grosser  things ; 

And  know  however  dark  the  sky 

The  stars  still  shine  serene  on  high. 

And  theirs  the  cause  that  strongly  stood 

Alone  for  human  brotherhood ; 

They  fought  that  Freedom  might  not  seem 

To  be  but  as  an  airy  dream ; 

Their  manly  hearts  and  hands  maintained 

The  peace  the  Puritans  had  gained ; 

They  fought  earth's  fairest  land  to  save, 

And  all  men  had  to  give  they  gave 

That  their  adopted  land  might  be 

United  still  from  sea  to  sea. 

Their  task  is  done' — our  land  receives 
The  ripe  reward — the  golden  sheaves 
Of  Peace  that  gladdens  happy  hours, 
And  Freedom  garlanded  with  flowers. 
Their  honored  lives  ennobled  need 
No  trumpet  blast  to  tell  each  deed. 


14  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

One  flag,  one  people,  and  one  land 
Their  monuments  united  stand. 

But  oft  these  martial  scenes  return, 
In  mem'ry's  eye  the  camp  fires  burn; 
In  day-dreams  oft  unbidden  come 
The  bugle  call,  the  roll  of  drum, 
The  gleam  of  steel,  the  grand  parade, 
The  musket  flash,  the  cannonade, 
The  rallying  cheer,  the  ringing  shout, 
The  charge  terrific  and  the  rout, 
The  onward  march  till — perils  past, 
The  healing  calm  of  Peace  at  last. 

Thus  may  the  tuneful  Muse  rehearse 
One  brief  campaign  in  simple  verse, 
And  tell  how,  wreath'd  in  fire  and  smoke, 
God's  voice  in  battle  thunder  spoke. 
And  taught  those  truths  more  dearly  prized 
That  are  by  blood  and  tears  baptized, 
And  oft  reverberate  sublime 
Along  each  echoing  arch  of  time. 


PART  I. 

THE  MARCH  OVER  THE  CUMBERLAND  MOUNTAINS. 

WHERE  Cumberland's  green  mountains  rise 

'Neath  fair  Kentucky's  opal  skies, 

The  hazy  mist  hangs  ghostly  white 

Around  each  leafy  covered  height, 

And  veils  the  silent  solitudes 

Of  frowning  crags  and  solemn  woods; 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE.  15 

The  towering  peaks  are  dimly  seen 

Like  islands  looming  darkly  green ; 

But  now  the  eastern  headland's  fringe 

Is  touched  as  by  a  fiery  tinge, 

And,  flash'd  twixt  headlands  far  away, 

The  first  glad  gleam  of  dawning  day 

Illumes  the  hills  of  somber  hue 

With  sudden  gleams  of  sparkling  dew; 

Each  tender  leaflet  seems  afire, 

Each  springing  spike  a  burnished  spire, 

Each  bending  bough,  with  dewdrops  wet, 

Seems  now  with  silver  spangles  set ; 

And  mark  the  varied  hues  that  rise, 

Bewildering  in  their  dazzling  dyes, 

Till  shrub  and  tree,  like  flow'rets,  show 

Fair  fragments  of  the  rainbows  glow 

Some  clad  in  scarlet  rich  and  rare, 

Glow  bright  as  watch  fires  here  and  there , 

Some  gayly  deck'd  in  garnish'd  gold 

Their  yellow  wealth  of  leaves  unfold ; 

There  as  by  fairy  fingers  swung, 

The  wavy  fringework  tassel-hung 

Links  bough  to  bough  till,  grandly  graced, 

Tree,  shrub  and  flower  are  interlaced, 

And  all  above,  around,  beneath, 

Is  one  vast  variegated  wreath. 

Fair  flow'rets,  Nature's  brightest  gems; 

Gleam  star-like  on  their  glossy  stems, 

The  cluster'd  fruit  shines  overhead 

Rich  as  at  royal  banquet  spread ; 

Sweet  echoes  catch  the  warbled  notes 

That  gush  from  song-birds'  mellow  throats; 


16  THE  HIGHLANDERS  IN  TENNESSEE. 

The  fragrant  incense  of  the  morn 
Steals  on  the  sense  by  soft  winds  borne ; 
Aloft  the  burnish' d  broad  expanse 
Of  sapphire  meets  the  upward  glance, 
Like  seas  by  sunlit  glory  seen, 
Far  spread,  resplendent  and  serene. 

O  Nature !  in  thy  lovely  moods, 
Deep  hid  in  sylvan  solitudes, 
How  meet  that  Peace  supremely  blest 
In  calm  content  with  thee  should  rest! 
How  distant  seem  the  cares,  the  strife, 
The  ills  that  haunt  frail  human  life! 
How  far  remote  seems  war's  red  flood, 
The  sickening  sight  of  human  blood ! 
Thou  in  thy  God-like  splendor  set, 
Art  free  from  care  and  dull  regret. 
No  sorrow  dims  thy  radiant  eyes, 
No  longings  vex  thy  soul  with  sighs; 
Thou  boldest  thy  unswerving  course, 
Still  strong  as  from  thy  primal  source 
Thou,  clad  in  majesty  serene, 
Enrob'st  the  earth  in  shining  green ! 
What  carest  thou  though  near  thy  throne 
Amid  these  mountains  wild  and  lone, 
With  blare  of  trump  and  beat  of  drum, 
The  long  embattled  columns  come? 
While  o'er  the  flower-enameled  knolls 
The  brazen  cannon  rudely  rolls; 
And  echoing  far  by  woody  ways 
The  foam-fleck' d  war-horse  wildly  neighs; 
While  lumbering  on  in  slow  advance 
The  heavy-laden  ambulance 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN  TENNESSEE  17 

Cornea  dust-enwrapped  as  in  a  cloud 
And  sorrow-freighted  as  a  shroud. 

Yet,  sooth,  it  is  a  gallant  sight 

To  mark  as  on  from  height  to  height 

The  moving  squadrons,  now  revealed, 

And  now  by  leafy  shades  concealed, 

March  bravely  onward,  while  the  gleam 

Of  arms  are  glittering  as  a  stream, 

That  ever  ceaseless  in  its  flow, 

Goes  flashing  to  the  vale  below. 

No  garish  pomp  or  grand  display, 

That  marks  a  civic  holiday 

With  gorgeous  show  of  bold  pretence, 

But  resolute  intelligence 

Along  the  martial  ranks  is  seen, 

In  sober  manhood's  modest  mien. 

There  with  the  far-assembled  host, 

The  Scots  lead  on  in  honor's  post. 

See  how  they  gaze  in  glad  surprise 

As  through  fond  memory's  dreamy  eyes 

The  scenes  their  happy  boyhoods  knew 

In  Scotland's  Highlands  rise  to  view! 

To  them  that  towering  peak  is  now 

The  bold  Ben  Lomond's  lofty  brow. 

Or  high  Schiehallion's  rugged  height, 

Though  tears  bedim  the  gladsome  sight. 

What  though  fair  Scotland's  hills  ne'er  knew 

Such  glowing  tints  of  rainbow  hue; 

In  Fancy's  eye  the  vanish'd  years 

Of  golden  youth  such  glory  wears, 

That  all  the  iridescent  sheen 

Of  intermingled  gold  and  green 


18  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

That  gilds  the  mountains  of  the  West 
Is  dim  beside  each  purple  crest 
That  looms  in  cloudless  splendor  high, 
Transfigured  bright  in  memory's  eye. 

Beside  them  in  the  ranks  of  war 
Are  men  whose  homes  are  distant  far: 
In  cities,  where  the  morning  laves 
Her  beams  among  the  Atlantic  waves, 
By  fair  New  England's  breezy  dales, 
Or  Pennsylvania's  happy  vales; 
And  men  whose  feet  in  peace  had  press'd 
The  broad,  green  prairies  of  the  West 
Are  there,  by  one  bright  hope  inspired, 
By  Liberty  to  valor  fired. 
Two  weary  years  of  battle's  chance 
And  war's  uncertain  circumstance, 
Had  fail'd  to  quench  the  fiery  zeal 
That  flamed  within  their  hearts  of  steel. 
Time's  changing  touch  had  barely  cooled 
The  hearts  in  hard  experience  schooled, 
Though  less  of  ardor's  gallant  show 
Shone  through  the  silent  soul  below, 
As  rivers  flowing  fast  and  free 
Grow  calmer  as  they  near  the  sea. 

March  on,  brave  soldiers !  yours  the  cause 
That  looks  not  for  the  loud  applause 
That  greets  the  victor  of  the  hour; 
Your  prize  is  right's  unfading  flower 
That  springs  from  Virtue's  fruitful  seeds, 
And  blossoms  into  noble  deeds. 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN  TENNESSEE.  19 

Your  feet  are  hastening  on  the  path 

That  leads  where  Wrong  poured  forth  her  wrath, 

Because  fair  Tennessee  abhorred 

To  draw  Rebellion's  ruthless  sword. 

Strong  in  her  faith  and  tried  her  worth 

She  stands  unfaltering  with  the  North, 

And  through  long  hours  of  sorrow  drawn 

She  waiteth  for  the  golden  dawn. 

She  knows  the  battles  you  have  fought, 

The  triumphs  which  your  arms  have  wrought. 

Your  march  is  music  to  her  ears, 

She  hails  your  coming  on  with  cheers 

That  echo  joyous,  far  and  free, 

In  every  vale  of  Tennessee. 


PART    II. 

THE  CAMPAIGN  IN  EASTERN  TENNESSEE. 

THEY  who  have  seen  the  sad,  pale  trace 
Of  sorrow  on  the  wasted  face, 
When  slow  disease  had  worn  away 
Fair  beauty's  bloom  to  dull  decay; 
And  mark'd  the  first  returning  gleam 
Of  health  that,  bright  as  morn  ing's  beam, 
Which  tinges  with  ethereal  light 
The  gloomy  shadows  of  the  night; 
And  saw  how  sweetly,  calmly  fair 
Hope  came  and  dwelt  serenely  there, 
Has  seen  such  trace  of  light  and  shade 
As  rapine's  ruthless  hand  had  made, 
When  Hope  exultant  rose  at  last 
Tiiumphant  o'er  the  woeful  past 


20  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

And  spoke  of  Peace  that  was  to  be 
Again  supreme  in  Tennessee. 

There  roofless  stands  in  dark  decay 
The  happy  homes  of  yesterday; 
The  loyal  hands  are  gone  that  made 
Their  dwellings  'neath  the  maple's  shade; 
The  prowling  fox  and  wild  raccoon 
Dwell  by  the  lonely  hearths  at  noon; 
Uncropt  the  flowers  whose  rainbow  dyes 
Glow  bright  as  beauty's  radiant  eyes, 
Unheeded  by  deserted  walks 
They  wane  and  wither  on  their  stalks; 
Untouched  the  fruit  bestrews  the  sod, 
By  happy  toiler's  feet  untrod. 
Yon  blacken'd  waste  with  ashes  strewn, 
Tells  where  the  waving  grain  had  grown 
Till  rude  Rebellion's  scorching  flame 
Had  blasted  earth  where'er  it  came. 
Yon  crumbling  pile  beside  the  flood 
Shows  where  the  spanning  arch  had  stood ; 
And  far  and  near  on  ev'ry  hand 
Had  havoc  marr'd  the  lovely  land 
Whose  beauties  breath'd  but  of  distress 
In  sad,  forsaken  loneliness. 

The  scene  is  changed.     Along  the  height 
The  soldiers  see  another  sight : 
The  sheen  of  steel,  the  lurid  glare 
Of  fire  that  rends  the  sulph'rous  air; — 
The  shrieking  shells  that  wrathful  fly 
Far-circling  through  the  startled  sky, 
While  loud  and  fast  the  cannons  boom 
Their  thunders  in  the  gathering  gloom ! 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE.  21 

Unfurl  the  starry  flag  and  march 
Erect,  as  if  yon  fiery  arch 
Was  but  some  fair  triumphal  show 
That  graced  a  happy  scene  below. 
Ye  gallant  men  whose  stalwart  sires 
First  lit  bold  Freedom's  quenchless  fires 
In  fair  New  England's  broad  domains; 
Ye  freemen  from  the  Western  plains, 
Ye  Pennsylvanians  tried  and  true, 
The  Roundheads'  blood  that  throbs  in  you 
Is  stirred  with  all  its  wonted  life 
When  Freedom  calls  to  armed  strife ! 
Mark  where  along  yon  wooded  height 
The  Scots  rush  headlong  to  the  fight ; 
A  fierce,  insatiate  fury  whets 
Their  bristling  line  of  bayonets ! 
Already  as,  like  fire,  they  go 
Resistless  on  th'  astonished  foe, 
A  nameless  terror  wildly  starts 
A  panic  in  the  foemen's  hearts. 
Charge  boldly  on  their  wavering  lines! 
Charge  while  yon  sun  resplendent  shines ! 
His  parting  smile,  ere  comes  the  night, 
Dwells  like  a  halo  round  the  height, 
And  lends  the  splendors  of  the  sky 
To  gild  the  Union  victory ! 

Onward  the  victors  march  nor  pause 
To  count  each  fight  in  Freedom's  cause; 
They  feel  no  pride  in  fields  like  these, 
No  charm  in  vict'ries  won  with  ease. 
But,  bright  as  sunbeams  through  a  cloud, 
Joy  wakes  the  echoes  long  and  loud ; 


22  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

Each  nestling  hamlet  seems  to  wake 
To  brighter  life,  and  gladly  make 
Triumphant  wreaths  to  grace  the  way 
In  one  long,  happy  holiday. 
Cheers  rend  the  air;  glad  bells  are  rung; 
Warm  welcomes  swell  from  every  tongue. 
The  teeming  towns  send  forth  their  throngs, 
That  fill  the  air  with  martial  songs ; 
While  music,  with  its  warbled  sweets, 
Makes  gay  the  march  by  crowded  streets, 
And  brings  to  mem'ry's  longing  ear 
Strains  that  the  wanderer  loves  to  hear ; — 
Fond  echoes  from  the  far-off  Rhine 
Come  soft  as  zephyrs,  warm  as  wine ; 
Blythe  airs  that  lead  the  merry  dance 
Among  the  vine-clad  hills  of  France 
Are  there,  and  sweetly,  nobly  grand 
The  music  of  my  native  land 
Comes  wild  and  high  as  vict'ries'  cheers — 
The  echoes  of  a  thousand  years ! 

Bright  days  are  these  and  happy  nights 
Made  glad  by  Nature's  calm  delights: 
The  gorgeous  glow  of  autumn  woods, 
The  peace  of  sylvan  solitudes, 
The  marchings  in  the  golden  noon, 
The  bivouacs  'neath  the  silver  moon, 
The  civic  joy,  the  social  grace, 
The  sunshine  of  the  human  face, 
These,  dream-like,  pass  in  bright  surprise, 
Before  the  soldier's  wondering  eyes, 
And  form,  in  life's  beclouded  sky, 
A  golden  gleam  in  memory's  eye. 


THE  HIGHLANDERS   IN  TENNESSEE.  23 

The  dream  is  past.     The  waning  year 
Has  brought  November  dull  and  drear. 
The  loyal  North's  victorious  ranks 
Rest  on  their  arms  by  Holston's  banks, 
And  dream  that  Eastern  Tennessee 
From  ruthless  rebel  hordes  is  free. 
By  day  their  sheltering  huts  they  raise ; 
By  night  beside  the  camp-fire's  blaze 
They  pass  the  merry  jest  and  song, 
The  careless,  happy  groups  among; 
And  war's  wild  ways  already  seem 
Dim  as  a  half -forgotten  dream. 

'Tis  midnight,  and  the  slumb'ring  camp 
Is  still  as  death — the  muffled  tramp 
Of  cautious  foemen  clustering  near 
Falls  faintly  on  the  sentry's  ear; 
His  rifle  speaks — the  foeman  comes ! 
Roll  out,  ye  army-rousing  drums ! 
Ye  bugles  blare  your  wild  alarms ! 
Haste,  haste,  ye  loyal  men  to  arms ! 
See  by  the  camp-fire's  wavering  glare 
The  loyal  ramrods  spring  in  air ! 
While  bright  as  dewdrops  on  the  heath 
Are  bayonets  flashing  from  the  sheath ! 
In  vain  your  serried  lines  ye  brave, 
Back — back — nor  meet  yon  mighty  wave 
That  comes  in  overwhelming  force, 
Far  spread  in  its  resistless  course. 
Back — 'neath  the  black  wings  of  the  night 
The  Scots  shall  hold  yon  friendly  height 
Till,  from  the  baffled  foe  withdrawn, 
The  dim  eyes  of  the  doubtful  dawn 


24  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

Shall  see  your  brazen  batteries  crown. 
The  forts  encircling  Knoxville  town. 


PART  III. 

THE   SIEGE  OF    KNOXVILLE. 

THE  dark  November  sky  droops  down 
Like  funeral  wreaths  on  Knoxville  town, 
The  Holston  River  steals  along ; 
Harsh,  mournful  murmurs  mar  its  song, 
Its  hurrying  tide  brooks  no  delay, 
Like  one  that  hastes  to  be  away; 
The  hollow  winds  in  eddies  meet, 
And,  rustling  on  the  lonely  street, 
The  raindrops  borne  on  whirling  wings 
Sweep  through  the  air  like  living  things, 
Or  earthward  rattle,  tempest  driven, 
As'  twere  the  volleyed  wrath  of  Heaven. 

Pale  faces  set  in  startled  stare 

Show  in  the  casements  here  and  there; 

Dumb  wonder  waits  in  anxious  eyes, 

And  fear  dwells  mute  in  sad  surprise ; 

And  well  they  might,  for  near  and  far, 

Above  the  elemental  war, 

The  cannons  crash  with  thundering  boom, 

And  lurid  flashes  light  the  gloom ; 

While  through  the  sulphurous  air  the  flight 

Of  shrieking  shells  appalls  the  sight, 

Then,  bursting  on  the  riven  ground, 

They  spread  new  horror  all  around ; 

Each  hillside  near  the  startled  town 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN  TENNESSEE.  25 

With  brazen  batteries  seems  to  frown ; 

Each  rocky  cliff  its  front  has  lent 

For  bastioned  tower  and  battlement; 

The  leafy  vales  where  late  the  flowers 

In  beauty  bloomed  in  golden  hours, 

The  breath  of  battle  seems  to  feel 

And  blossom  into  blades  of  steel ; 

And  where  the  wild  birds  sweet  and  gay 

Sang  many  a  warbled  roundelay, 

Now  rings  the  rifle  loud  and  clear, 

Incessant  on  the  startled  ear. 

But  mark  where  through  the  tempest  shines 

The  nearer  trace  of  Union  Hues, 

There  loyal  hands  have  trenches  made 

And  ply  the  busy  pick  and  spade; 

There  the  keen  ax  has  felled  the  trees 

And  skillful  shaped  the  arrowy  frieze ; 

There  cautious  care  has  spread  her  plans 

In  firm  redoubts  and  bold  redans; 

There  breastworks  rise  and  palisade 

And  widening  embrasures  are  made, 

Through  which  the  level'd  cannons  show 

Their  mouths  toward  th'  approaching  foe. 

The  lines  are  thin  for  miles  along, 
The  arms  are  but  three  thousand  strong; 
But  stout  in  nature's  best  defense, 
They  stand  in  manly  confidence; 
From  river  bank  to  heights  around 
There  lies  no  unprotected  ground ; 
No  vantage  place  an  opening  spreads 
But  where  the  cannon  enfilades, 


26  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

And  where  the  western  works  extend, 
O'er  rising  slopes  and  northward  bend, 
There  on  the  frowning  angle,  crown'd 
With  crested  ramparts  guarded  round, 
While  ample  ditch  its  width  expands, 
A  double-bastioned  fortress  stands. 
And  silent  sentinels,  night  and  day, 
Watch  the  long,  weary  hours  away ; 
Keen-eyed  each  soldier  keeps  his  post 
And  waits  the  fierce,  rebellious  host. 
Within,  unwavering  as  a  rock, 
The  Scots  await  the  battle-shock ; 
O'erhead  the  starry  banner  streams, 
Around  the  burnish'd  bayonet  gleams; 
The  distant  bursts  of  smoke  and  flame 
Are  but  as  passing  breeze  to  them ; 
The  bomb  flies  past  on  rushing  wings 
Unheeded  as  familiar  things; 
The  foemen's  fire,  the  gleam  of  swords, 
Are  less  to  them  than  idle  words ; 
Like  runners  at  the  starting  place 
They  wait  impatient  for  the  race; 
Before  them,  lit  by  memory's  lamp, 
Comes  James'  Island's  ghastly  swamp, 
Where,  grim  before  the  batteries'  breath, 
Their  comrades  strewed  that  field  of  death ; 
And  vengeance  with  a  fierce  desire 
Is  burning  in  their  eyes  of  fire, 
And  hope  proclaims  th1  approaching  day 
That  wipes  that  bloody  stain  away. 

But  weary  nights  and  direful  days 
Tempestuous  pass  their  fiery  ways  j 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE.  2? 

Each  morn  the  weak-eyed  sickly  sun 
Beholds  the  fight  again  begun ; 
While  near,  in  ever-narrowing  ring, 
The  fiery  Southrons  closer  cling. 
Each  day  adds  horrors  to  the  storm 
That  gathers  round  War's  wasting  form; 
Each  night  reveals  in  lurid  glare 
Red  ruin  rend  the  startled  air: 
While  from  the  clouds  the  deluge  keeps 
Unceasing  as  if  heaven  weeps, 
Till  underneath  the  trampled  grass 
The  earth  is  one  black,  yielding  mass. 
Nor  tent  nor  shelter  there  is  found ; 
The  scowling  skies,  the  seething  ground, 
And,  ghastly  as  a  funeral  pyre, 
The  nearing  arc  of  ceaseless  fire 
That  wings  in  blasts  of  sulphurous  breath 
The  swift-winged  whizzing  bolts  of  death. 
Then  famine,  too,  with  pallid  streak 
Begins  to  mark  the  wasted  cheek, 
And  hollow  eye  that  pensive  waits 
Submissive  to  the  frowning  fates; 
For,  uncomplaining  of  their  lot, 
In  silence  waits  each  stalwart  Scot ; 
Like  cliffs  that  guard  their  native  land, 
Around  the  fateful  fort  they  stand, 
While  heaven  and  earth  is,  near  and  far, 
Convulsed  in  one  fierce  blast  of  war. 

At  last  o'erhead  th  ethereal  blue 
Clear  as  the  eye  of  Heaven  shines  through, 
And  Winter  makes  the  earth  his  throne, 
And  binds  his  glitt'ring  armor  on ; 


28  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

Before  him,  spectral- like  and  gaunt, 
The  waters  change  to  adamant; 
Trees  glow  in  crystal  branches  bright, 
Shrubs  spread  in  flashing  frostwork  white, 
Earth  sparkles,  o'er  her  marble  face 
A  wreath  of  rich  embroider'd  lace 
In  silvery  fringework  flames  as  free 
As  sunshine  on  a  summer  sea. 
The  guns  are  hushed.     The  air  is  still. 
The  watch-fires  gleam  along  the  hill; 
Serene  the  radiant  moon  looks  down 
Like  Pity's  eye  on  Knoxville  town; 
The  stars  in  spangling  splendor  bright 
Illume  the  calm,  broad  brow  of  night; 
Aloft  while  they  their  vigils  keep 
The  wearied  soldiers  sink  to  sleep, 
And  fairer,  fonder  scenes  arise 
In  beauty  to  their  dreaming  eyes; 
Home  steals  around  them  and  the  charms 
Of  social  joy  their  life-blood  warms; 
The  want,  the  woe  of  war's  wild  days, 
Is  quenched  in  dreamland's  magic  maze ; 
Nor  winter's  frown,  nor  war's  fierce  power 
Can  rob  them  of  this  golden  hour. 
Sweet  be  your  dreams  as  o'er  each  brow 
Bright  memories  weave  fair  fancies  now ! 
Peace  fold  you  in  her  gentle  wing 
With  joy  beyond  imagining, 
Till  happy  thrills  of  gladness  bless 
The  calm  of  sweet  forgetfulness ! 
Dream  not  that  ere  to-morrow's  sun 
His  westward,  golden  race  has  run, 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE.  29 

Hundreds  of  gallant  hearts  shall  lie 
Cold  as  the  clay  'neath  winter's  sky! 
Dream  on,  for  ere  yon  stars  shall  fade 
In  light  by  dawning  splendor  made, 
The  furious  fires  of  war  shall  glow 
In  lurid  lightning  wrath  below; 
And  f oemen,  woke  to  frenzied  strife ; 
Rush  in  the  bloom  of  sweet  young  life 
To  death's  dull  mystery  dark  and  deep, — 
That  last,  that  long  and  dreamless  sleep! 


PART  IV. 

THE  DEFENSE  OF  FORT  SANDERS. 

ONE  flash  that  dims  the  stars'  pale  light, 
One  crash  that  rends  the  ear  of  night, 
One  shell  that  shrieks  in  fiendish  sport, 
Then  bursts  exultant  near  the  fort! 
One  bugle-call  whose  warbled  sound 
Brings  answering  blasts  from  miles  around; 
Then  all  at  once  the  startled  air 
Is  quivering  with  a  fitful  glare, 
That,  quick  as  northern  meteor  runs, 
Of  fire  on  fire  from  answering  guns 
That  belch  their  fury  harsh  and  grim 
Along  the  dark  horizon's  rim ; 
While  thick  as  hail  in  summer  skies 
An  iron  shower  tempestuous  flies, 
And  striking,  bursts  in  awful  light 
Around  the  fort's  embattled  height. 
Blow  strikes  on  blow,  like  steel  on  steel, 
Till  all  the  riven  ramparts  reel, 


30  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

As  if  the  forms  of  fort  and  plain 
Were  crumbling  into  dust  again. 


They  pause — the  Southern  cannoneers— * 
And  now — with  ringing  yells  and  cheers, 
Dim  as  a  cloud  they  form,  and  then 
A  torrent  of  ten  thousand  men 
Comes  onward  in  a  threatening  roar, 
As  some  wild  wave  that  seeks  the  shore, 
Or  some  dark  tempest  gathering  round; 
Earth  trembles  at  the  awful  sound ; 
The  gray  gloom  glistens  ghastly  bright, 
As  glimmering  in  the  shadowy  light, 
The  bayonets  gleam  against  the  moon, 
Thick  as  the  fireflies  flash  in  June. 
On,  on  they  come,  as  when  the  hills 
Are  furrowed  by  a  thousand  rills, 
And  fast  the  rushing  waters  flow 
Impetuous  to  the  vale  below ; 
Where  wild  and  wide  they  clear  a  path, 
Uncheck'd  in  overflowing  wrath, 
Till  some  bold  cliff  whose  summits  show 
Defiance  to  the  waves  below ; 
There  when  the  warring  waters  meet 
They  pause  and  tremble  at  its  feet. 

Fierce  from  the  fort  the  cannons  crash, 
Fast,  fast  three  hundred  rifles  flash ; 
Heedless  and  hurrying  squadrons  pour 
In  headlong  haste  their  maddening  roar; 
The  frenzy  spreads,  the  fury  grows; 
The  ditch  is  filled  and  overflows. 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE.  31 

Up  the  steep  slope  the  tide  is  press'd, 
The  flags  are  planted  on  the  crest ; 
Steel  gleams  on  steel,  eye  glares  on  eye, 
Shouts,  yells  commingled  rend  the  sky; 
Supreme  the  wave  triumphant  seems, 
Aloft  its  crest  victorious  gleams. 
Splendid  it  rises  in  its  might 
Above  the  flashing,  bristling  height, 
And  tremulous  hangs  as  poised  in  air 
It  dwells  but  for  a  moment  there; 
Backward  it  rolls  as  ocean's  waves 
Against  some  headland  vainly  raves. 
Backward,  pierced  through  by  shot  or  steel, 
The  fiery  Southrons  downward  reel; 
Again  the  war-worn  crest  is  clear; 
Loud  rings  the  Scot's  ecstatic  cheer. 

But  louder  yet  the  answering  yell 
Of  furious  foes  the  tumult  swell ; 
Again  they  charge,  a  fierce,  fresh  flood, 
Up  the  red  ramparts  wet  with  blood ; 
All  the  wild  wrath  of  hate  they  bring; 
Grim  as  the  grasp  of  death  they  cling; 
Mass'd  on  the  angle  see  them  swarm 
As  wild  beasts  roused  by  fierce  alarm. 
Throw  the  death -dealing  grenades  there; 
Fire  the  keen  rifle  till  the  air 
In  thunders  hush  the  dying  cry 
Of  gallant  men  who  bravely  die. 
Rush  to  the  crest,  ye  stalwart  few, 
God's  mighty  arm  shall  strike  with  you ! 
Dash  down  the  foremost  in  the  fray, 
Stand  fast  and  keep  the  hosts  at  bay; 


32  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

There  let  them  quench  their  Southern  zeal 
On  bristling  blades  of  Northern  steel ! 
Quick  from  their  desp'rate  hands  unclasp 
The  flags  they  hold  with  iron  grasp; 
The  stars  and  stripes  alone  shall  be, 
Above  that  fortress  of  the  free ! 

The  red  blood  freezes  on  the  slope, 
From  dying  hands  the  muskets  drop; 
Beneath — the  ditch  yawns  deep  and  wide 
Where  comrades  welter  side  by  side ; 
Friends  trample  o'er  them  but  in  vain; — 
Down  headlong  in  the  ditch  again 
They  fall  and  swell  the  dying  throng, 
Bombs  burst  the  bleeding  mass  among; 
O'er  the  deep  groans  of  dark  despair 
Shrieks  wildly  pierce  the  clamorous  air; 
Aloft  their  bravest  and  their  best 
Meet  death  in  battle  on  the  crest, 
While  ceaseless  from  the  mass  o'erhead 
Drop  down  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Till  heaped  the  grave  grows  ghastly  grim 
With  dead  uncoffin'd  to  the  brim ! 

Dim  dawn  awakes  and  shadowy  light 
Glides  ghost-like  round  th'  embattled  height; 
The  glow  of  Orient  flame  shines  through 
The  sulphurous  clouds  of  mantling  blue, 
And  gilds  the  gloom  and  glorifies 
The  fading  light  of  dying  eyes, 
Transfiguring  with  a  radiant  grace 
The  pathos  of  each  pallid  face. 


THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE.  33 

Sweet,  tender,  tear-eyed  Pity  seems 
Blent  with  the  morning's  golden  beams; 
And  war's  fierce  front  has  gentler  grown, 
Or  with  the  doubtful  darkness  flown. 
The  battle  ceases  and  the  dawn 
Beholds  the  shatter' d  host  withdrawn; 
Where  grim  war's  fiercest  bolts  were  hurPd 
Behold  the  flags  of  truce  unfurled ; 
The  living,  charging  mass  is  gone, 
The  drifts  of  dead  are  there  alone. 

In  stricken  silence,  sick  at  heart, 

The  shattered  Southrons  now  depart. 

No  need  is  there,  though  wing'd  in  haste, 

Grant's  conquering  legions  of  the  West, 

From  Chattanooga's  battleground 

They  come  victorious,  laurel-crowned. 

But  halt !  roll  east  like  prairie  fires, 

Virginia's  fields  your  flame  requires, 

The  cleansing  fires  from  which  shall  spring 

The  future's  fulness  blossoming. 

Come  not  where  peace  hath  now  returned, 

Where  war's  fierce  furnace  fires  have  burn'd 

Till  purified,  fair  Freedom's  voice 

Makes  Tennessee's  glad  vales  rejoice. 

Her  trampled  fields  will  bloom  again 

With  happy  wealth  of  golden  grain ; 

In  nestling  towns  war's  clangors  cease 

And  rises  now  the  songs  of  Peace. 

And  thou,  my  own  heroic  band, 
Bold  warriors  of  my  native  land, 
Haste  where  the  Northern  armies  press 
Through  green  Virginia's  wilderness ; 


34  THE   HIGHLANDERS   IN   TENNESSEE. 

Close  round  where  madly,  blindl}'  gropes 

Rebellion's  last,  expiring  hopes; 

There  grasp  once  more  the  war-worn  hands 

Where  victors  and  the  vanquished  stands 

In  Peace  and  Unity  again 

On  Appomattox'  glorious  plain. 

And  thou,  ennobled  Scottish  dead, 
Light  lie  the  turf  on  each  low  head ! 
Whether  thou  sleep'st  thy  sleep  serene 
In  graves  by  loving  hands  kept  green, 
Or  liest  unhonored  and  unknown 
In  lonely  wilds  by  weeds  overgrown, 
Thy  life,  thy  worth  in  battle  tried, 
Has  made  each  grave  seem  sanctified ! 
Earth  clasp  thee  to  her  silent  breast ! 
Calm  in  her  bosom  may'st  thou  rest : 
Thy  blood  by  faith's  baptismal  grace 
Bedewed,  like  heart- wrung  tears,  her  face; 
There  when  the  gentle  hand  of  spring 
Her  em'rald  wreath  shall  blithely  bring 
There  let  the  fairest  flow 'rets  bloom 
Above,  around  each  hallowed  tomb, 
Her  voices  murmuring  your  knell, 
The  morning  cometh — All  is  well ! 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


Veritatis  simplex  oratio  est. 


TO  THE  HUMMING  BIRD 

birdie,  when  in  brambly  howes, 
Whaur  mony  a  buss  entangled  grows, 
And  bonnie  flow'rs  in  beauty  spring, 
I've  seen  thee  fauld  thy  quivering  wing. 
While  rapt  I  stood,  amazed  to  see 
The  glowing  hues  that  gleamed  on  thee — 
The  red,  the  blue,  the  gowd,  the  green, 
The  pearly  gloss,  the  siller  sheen; 
Then  quick,  ere  yet  the  eager  eye 
Had  half  perceived  each  dazzling  dye, 
Awa'  ye  fluttered  frae  the  sight, 
Like  fire-flaucht  in  the  cloud  o'  night. 

Sic  like  's  when  in  the  day's  dull  thrang 
Time  drags  the  weary  hours  alang ; 
Bright  fancy  flashes  on  the  mind 
Some  bonnie  blink  o'  wondrous  kind — 
Wild  glens  wi'  burnies  bick'rin  doun, 
Far  frae  the  stoury,  noisy  toun ; 
Green  woods  an'  sweet  secluded  dells, 
Whaur  silence  aye  serenely  dwells; 
Fond  faces — rare  auld  warks  an'  ways 
That  graced  the  light  o'  ither  days — 


36  TO   THE   HUMMING   BIRD. 

Come  sudden  on  th'  enraptured  view, 
Then  vanish  in  a  blink — like  you. 

But  speed  thee  on  thy  fairy  flight, 
"Whaur  sweetest  blossoms  tempt  thy  sight; 
An'  round  thee  may  ilk  gladsome  thing 
Light  as  the  flaffer  o'  thy  wing 
Aye  keep  thee  blythe,  nor  aught  e'er  mar 
The  bonnie,  braw,  wee  thing  ye  are. 
Owerjoyed  am  I  when  happy  chance 
But  brings  thee  in  a  passing  glance. 

Thus  come,  O  Poesy !  grace  divine ! 
Come  wi'  that  kindling  fire  o'  thine, 
That  lends  the  dull  imaginings 
The  beauties  of  a  thousand  things; 
And  though  thy  flashing  fancies  flit, 
Like  this  wee  birdie's  restless  fit, 
Thy  briefest  glint  shall  grandly  glow 
As  bright  as  Iris'  radiant  bow. 


TO  THE  MOSQUITOES. 

JT^g)ANG-NEBBIT,  bizzin',  bitin'  wretches, 
•j^J     That  fire  my  skin  wi'  blobs  an'  splatches ; 
Till  vex'd  wi'  yeukie  claws  an'  scratches, 

I  think  I'm  free 

Ta  say  the  warld  has  seen  few  matches 
To  Job  an'  me. 

Sae  aft  you've  gar't  me  fret  an'  fume, 
My  vera  spirit  ye  consume 
Wi'  everlasting  martyrdom — 

Ye  wicked  tartars, 
You've  surely  settled  on  my  room 

For  your  headquarters ! 

Asleep  or  wauken,  air  or  late, 
Like  Nick  himsel'  ye  are  na  blate; 
But  like  the  doom  o'  pendin'  fate 

Aboon  my  head, 
Ye  keep  me  in  a  waefu'  state 

O'  quakin'  dread. 

Whiles  like  a  fury  I've  been  stan'in', 
An'  clos'd  my  mou  to  keep  frae  bannin, 
Whiles  some  destructive  scheme  I'm  plannin' 

Your  race  to  scatter — 
Oh,  could  I  ram  ye  in  a  cannon, 

An'  then  lat  blatter ! 


38  TO   THE   MOSQUITOES. 

When  pensive  in  my  fav'rite  neuk, 
I  glow'r  owre  some  auld-f arrant  beuk, 
Like  leeches  then  my  bluid  ye  sook, 

Then  bizz  and  flee; 
An'  then  begins  th'  infernal  yeuk 

That  angers  me. 

When  lost  in  mazy  contemplation 
And  soars  supreme  imagination, 
How  aft  on  fancy's  fair  creation 

The  curtain  draps ; 
Ye  bizz,  an'  blinks  o'  inspiration 

At  ance  collapse ! 

O,  would  some  towsie-headed  tyke, 
Wha  strives  to  make  some  new  bit  fyke, 
Invent  a  plan  to  sweep  your  byke 

Frae  human  dwallins, 
I'd  sing  his  praise  as  heigh's  ye  like 

In  braw,  braid  ballan's. 

But  fix'd  ye  are  'mang  human  ills — 
Whose  bitter  cup  your  bitin'  fills; 
Nor  auld  wives'  cures  nor  doctors'  bills 

Can  mend  the  case — 
Firm  as  the  everlasting  hills 

Ye  keep  your  place. 

But  could  I  gain  some  grace  or  ither, 
To  teach  me  in  ilk  warslin  swither, 
To  tak  the  guid  an'  ill  thegither 

Without  complaint, 
Then  might  we  dwell  wi'  ane  anither 

In  calm  content. 


TO   THE  MOSQUITOES.  39 

But  sae  it  is — ye  maun  hae  food, 

An'  I  maun  guard  my  ain  heart's  bluid; 

But  could  ye  scrape  a  livelihood 

Some  ither  where, 
I  would  be  yours  in  gratitude 

For  evermair. 


WHISKY'S   AWA'! 

iy  HAT  news  is  this?     I  speer  fu'  fain, 
Is  this  some  joke  o'  th'  printer's  ain? 
Na,  faith,  it's  truth  that  he's  been  say'n' 

They've  pass'd  a  law 
Through  Pennsylvania,  dale  an'  plain — 
Whisky's  awa' ! 

Weel  might  a  pride  light  ilka  eye, 
An'  ilk  ane  haud  their  head  fu'  high, 
An'  celebrate  their  Fourth  July 

Wi'  mirth  an'  a', 
An'  roar  o'  cannon  rend  the  sky — 
Whisky's  awa' ! 

Lang  has  it  been  your  pridefu'  boast, 
What  time  the  tyrant  British  host 
Departed,  like  a  frighted  ghost, 

At  Freedom's  craw ; 
A  deadlier  fae  has  left  your  coast — 

Whisky's  awa' ! 

Nae  mair  the  drunkard's  raggit  bairns, 
Like  misers,  live  on  scraps  an'  parin's, 
An'  gloomy  jails,  whase  rusty  aims 

Fulfill  the  law, 
May  tumble  down  in  shapeless  cairns — 

Whisky's  awa' ! 


WHISKY'S  AWA'  !  41 

Good  Templars  now,  an'  bad  anes  baith, 
May  cast  aside  their  glitt'rin'  graith; 
Nor  need  they  paint  vile  whisky's*  scaith 

As  black's  a  craw, 
Nor  sign  the  pledge,  nor  tak  the  aith — 

Whisky's  awa' ! 

Rejoice  ilk  mither — sorrow  now 
Need  never  cloud  your  anxious  brow. 
Ye  lasses,  when  ye  mak'  your  vow, 

Let  hopes  ne'er  fa' — 
Your  lads,  like  steel,  will  aye  stand  true — 

Whisky's  awa !' 

If  sultry  weather  should  prevail, 
To  slocken  drouth  nae  ane  need  fail : 
There's  caller  cronk  an'  ginger  ale, 

Or,  best  o'  a', 
In  Susquehanna  dip  your  pail — 

Whisky's  awa' ! 

O  caller  water !  gowd  or  gear 
Compared  wi'  thee  maun  tak'  the  rear; 
Thou  never  garr'd  the  bitter  tear 

O'  mis'ry  fa' ! 
Pure  be  thy  fountain  evermair — 

Whisky's  awa' ! 

Now  Peace,  wi'  Plenty  on  its  wing, 
Contentment's  sweets  may  swiftly  bring, 
An'  Truth  stand  up,  an'  Virtue  spring 

As  pure  as  snaw ! 
While  Universal  Joy  doth  sing, 

Whisky's  awa'l 


AULD   SCOTIA  IN  THE  FIELD. 
QX 

'•jpj WAS  summer,  and  green  earth's  fair  face 
;£).         Was  wreathed  in  vernal  bloom; 
Each  dewy  flow'ret  lent  its  grace 
And  shed  its  sweet  perfume. 

The  bright  birds  in  the  shady  groves, 

On  ev'ry  bush  and  tree, 
Sang  sweetly  to  their  list'ning  loves 

Their  songs  of  melody. 

And  from  the  city's  busy  throng 

Went  forth  a  joyous  band, 
To  swell  the  universal  song 

That  echoed  through  the  land. 

And  deep  within  a  shady  wood 

Joy  held  its  sylvan  court ; 
And  thither  thronged  the  multitude 

To  witness  manly  sport. 

Again  we  joyed  to  sally  forth 

In  tartan's  plumed  array; 
Wild  music  of  our  native  North, 

Inspiring,  led  the  way ; 

And  Scottish  banners  waved  above 

The  heads  of  Scottish  men, 
As  if  the  Pennsylvanian  grove 

Were  Caledonian  glen. 


AULD    SCOTIA  IN   THE   FIELD.  43 

Nor  wanted  there  as  brawny  arms 

As  erst  in  days  of  yore 
Were  nobly  raised  in  war's  alarms 

For  old  green  Albyn's  shore, 

And  won  that  glory  which  has  given 

A  halo  brightly  thrown 
Around  her  as  a  gleam  from  heaven — 

A  glory  all  her  own. 

And  mem'ries  thronged  till  bright  there  seem'd 

Beneath  fair  Freedom's  sun — 
Columbia's — Scotia's  luster  gleam'd, 

And  spread  their  lights  in  one. 

Thus  ever  may  they  seem  to  shine, 

Homes  of  the  brave  and  free, 
Upholding  manhood's  right  divine 

Of  God-like  liberty; 

And  buoyant  on  the  wings  of  fame, 

Till  Nature's  destined  plan 
In  thunder  voices  loud  proclaim 

The  brotherhood  of  man. 


NORAN  WATER. 

"  Yet  wheresoe'er  his  step  might  be, 
Thy  wandering  child  look'd  back  to  thee !  " 

—  Whittier. 
i 

STOOD  where  Erie's  waters  flow 

O'er  steep  Niag'ra's  awful  brink, 
And  watch'd  where  to  the  depths  below 
The  mighty  torrents  fold  and  sink ; 
And  as  my  senses  seemed  to  swim, 

And  quicker  beat  my  throbbing  heart, 
The  sounding  waters  sang  their  hymn, 
More  grand  than  music's  measured  art 

And  I  have  sailed  upon  the  flood 

That  laves  Manhattan's  busy  shore, 
By  tangled  brake  and  dark-green  wood, — 

By  beetling  crags  moss-grown  and  hoar, — 
By  cultured  fields  where  graceful  bends 

The  maize's  yellow-crested  stalk ; 
And  where,  to  swell  her  tide,  descends 

The  waters  of  the  dark  Mohawk. 

And  I  have  gazed  with  joy  untold 

Where  through  Wyoming's  valley  green 
The  noble  Susquehanna  roll'd 

In  stately  majesty  serene ; 
While  pure  as  that  unclouded  day, 

Far  seen  in  azure  skies  profound, 
The  magic  of  a  poet's  lay 

Made  all  the  scene  seem  hallowed  ground. 


NORAN  WATER.  45 

But  these,  though  happy  thoughts  they  bring, 

When  clear  upon  the  memory's  eye 
They  glow  in  bright  imagining 

As  vivid  as  reality; 
Yet  dearer  memories  fondly  forth 

Come  linked  with  Noran's  crystal  stream, 
That,  bright  as  in  its  native  North, 

Oft  sparkles  in  my  fancy's  dream. 

O  Noran !    how  I  see  thee  dance 

By  heath-clad  hills  alone,  unseen, 
Save  where  the  lonely  eagle's  glance 

Surveys  thee  from  his  crag  serene. 
Forever  joyous  thou  dost  seem, 

Still  sportive  as  a  child  at  play, 
Who,  lost  in  pleasure's  careless  dream, 

Makes  merry  music  all  the  day. 

By  fairy  nooks  I  see  thee  flow, 

Nor  pausing  in  thy  artless  song 
Ti]l  where  the  fir  trees  spreading  low 

Obscure  thy  stream  their  arms  among. 
There,  sweet  amid  the  shady  gloom, 

Thou  hear'st  the  blackbird  chant  his  lay, 
Thou  see'st  the  pale  primroses  bloom, 

And  silent  ling' rest  on  thy  way ! 

Then  forth  thy  waters  dazzling  come 

Where  sweet-brier  scents  the  balmy  breeze, 
And  where  the  wild  bees  softly  hum 

Faint  echo  of  thy  harmonies. 
Green  spiky  gorse  thy  banks  adorn, 

Gold-tasseFd  broom  thy  fringe-work  weave, 
While  feathered  choirs  from  dewy  morn 

Make  melody  till  dewy  eve. 


46  NORAN   WATER. 

Then,  foaming  in  fantastic  flakes 

Thou  dashest  down  a  deep  ravine, 
Where  overhanging  wildwood  makes 

A  canopy  of  leafy  green. 
While  sweet  as  when  cathedral  naves 

Are  filled  with  voices  grave  and  gay, 
Soft  echoes  from  their  hidden  caves 

Repeat  thy  ringing  roundelay. 

Then  eddying  deep  by  flowery  dells, 

Or  babbling  on  by  clovery  lea, 
Thou  glittering  glid'st,  while  crystal  bells 

Of  diamond  luster  dance  on  thee, 
And  happy  children's  eager  eye 

Pursues  them,  or  with  tiny  hands 
Collect  the  pearly  shells  that  lie 

Begemming  bright  thy  silvery  sands. 

Then  on  by  pleasant  farms  that  breathe 

Of  calm  contentment's  happy  clime; 
Or  laughing  where  the  ivy's  wreath 

Clings  round  the  ruins  of  olden  time. 
And  on  where  stately  mansions  rise, 

Or  lowly  gleams  the  cottage  hearth ; 
Unchanged  thy  smile  still  meets  the  skies, 

Unchanged  still  rings  thy  song  of  mirth. 

Till  like  a  maid  whose  bridal  morn 

Beholds  her  decked  to  meet  her  love, 
Thou  com'st  where  gayest  flowers  adorn, 

And  sweetest  warblers  charm  the  grove; 
And  mingling  with  the  Esk's  clear  stream, 

In  fond  embrace  he  claspeth  thee, 
And  smiling  'neath  the  sunny  beam, 

Rolls  grandly  to  the  German  Sea. 


NORAN  WATER.  47 

O  Noran !  bright  thy  memory  brings 

My  careless  boyhood  back  to  me, 
When  ardent  hope  on  fancy's  wings 

Beheld  life's  future  gleam  like  thee. 
But  though  life's  path  be  dull  and  strange, 

And  rare  the  promised  joys  I  meet, 
In  thee  I  have,  through  time  and  change, 

One  golden  memory  ever  sweet ! 


WEE  CHARLIE. 

"  I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he  shall  not  return  to  me." — II  SAM 
UEL,  xii,  23. 

GIN  my  heart  could  hae  its  wiss 

Within  this  weary  warld  o'  care, 
I'd  ask  nae  glow  o'  balmy  bliss 

To  dwell  around  me  evermair. 
For  joy  were  mine  beyond  compare, 

An'  O  how  happy  would  I  be, 
If  Heaven  would  grant  my  earnest  prayer, 

An'  bring  wee  Charlie  back  to  me. 

He  cam'  like  sunshine  when  the  buds 

Burst  into  blossoms  sweet  and  gay, 
He  dwelt  like  sunshine  when  the  cluds 

Are  vanish 'd  frae  the  eye  o'  day. 
He  passed  as  daylight  fades  away, 

An'  darkness  spreads  owre  land  an'  sea : 
Nae  wonder  though  in  grief  I  pray, 

O,  bring  wee  Charlie  back  to  me. 

When  Pleasure  brings  her  hollow  joys, 

Or  Mirth  awakes  at  Friendship's  ca', 
Or  Art  her  varied  power  employs 

To  mak'  dull  Time  look  blithe  an'  braw, 
How  feckless  seem  they  ane  an'  a' 

When  sad  Remembrance  dims  my  e'e, — 
O,  tak'  thae  idle  joys  awa' 

An'  bring  wee  Charlie  back  to  nae. 


WEE  CHARLIE.  49 

But  vain's  the  cry ;  he  maunna  cross 

Frae  where  he  dwells  in  bliss  unseen, 
Nor  need  I  mourn  my  waefu'  loss, 

Nor  muse  on  joys  that  might  hae  beon. 
When  cauld  death  comes  to  close  my  een, 

Awa'  beyond  life's  troublous  sea, 
In  everlasting  joy  serene, 

They'll  bring  wee  Charlie  back  to  me. 


TO  MY  NATIVE  LAND. 

CALEDONIA !— brightest,  rarest 
d)^        Gem  that  shin'st  on  earth  or  sea; 

Lover-like,  forever  fairest 
Fancy  paints  thy  charms  to  me. 

Day  by  day  thy  mem'ries  haunt  me, 
Rich  in  all  things  bright  and  rare; 

Night  by  night  sweet  dreams  enchant  me 
Of  thy  beauties  fresh  and  fair ; 

And  my  spirit  seems  to  wander, 

Ever  joyous,  fond  and  free, 
O'er  thy  hills  whose  purple  grandeur 

Glows  in  king-like  majesty; 

Through  thy  glens  that  sweetly  nourish 
Many  a  flower  of  bonnie  bloom, 

Where  the  spinks  and  blue-bells  flourish 
Bright  among  the  brier's  perfume ; 

Where  the  rowans  hang  like  lusters 

Red  within  the  shady  dells; 
And  the  sweet  blaeberry  clusters 

Blue  among  the  heather-bells; 

Where  the  deeds  o'  martial  glory 

Hallow  ilka  hill  and  dale; 
Where  the  wild,  romantic  story 

Casts  its  charm  o'er  ilka  vale; 


TO   MY  NATIVE   LAND.  51 

Where  sweet  Poesy  pipes  her  numbers 

Till  the  minstrels'  airy  dream 
Haunts  the  wild  where  Echo  slumbers, 

Sings  in  ilka  crystal  stream; 

Where  true  manhood  dwells  serenely 

Moulded  in  heroic  grace, 
And  fair  virtue,  meek  but  queenly, 

Beams  in  woman's  angel  face. 

Thus  to  me  thy  memory  giveth 
Joys  that  sweeten  life's  dull  care; 

Thus  with  me  thy  beauty  liveth 
Like  a  presence  ev'rywhere. 

And  the  years  that  pass  but  brighten 

All  thy  graces  fair  and  free, 
As  the  moon-lit  waters  whiten 

On  the  dim  and  distant  sea. 

So  may  thou  dwell  with  me  ever 
Through  the  ceaseless  flow  of  years, 

Till  the  deep  and  dark  Forever 
Ends  my  earthly  hopes  and  fears. 

Then  'twere  happy,  Caledonia, 

Aye  to  dwell  serene  in  you, 
Aye  among  the  blythe  and  bonnie, 

Aye  among  the  tried  and  true. 


ANGUS  RANKIN'S  ELEGY. 

BRITHER  Scots  whaure'er  ye  be, 
That  lo'e  auld  Scotland's  melodie, 
Come  join  my  waii  wi'  tearfu'  e'e 

An'  hearts  that  bleed, 
An'  sad  an'  lanely  mourn  wi'  me 
For  him  that's  dead ! 

Now  silence  haunts  baith  house  an'  ha* 
Sin'  Angus  Eankin's  worn  awa' ; 
He  wha  sae  sweetly  aye  could  blaw 

The  tunefu'  reed, 
The  sweetest  minstrel  o'  them  a' — 

Alas!  he's  dead! 

O  sirs !  what  glowing  pictures  thrang 
In  memory's  treasured  joys  amang, 
Whaur  blithely  aye  his  chanter  rang, 

A  tunefu'  skreed, 
In  warbled  numbers  loud  an'  lang — 

But  Rankin's  dead! 

How  aft  his  sweet,  inspiring  strain 
Wing'd  Fancy  owre  the  dark  blue  main, 
Till  heathery  hill,  an'  grassy  plain, 

An'  daisied  mead, 
Came  fresh  on  memory's  e'e  again — 

But  Rankin's  dead ! 


ANGUS  RANKIN'S  ELEGY.  53 

AD'  aft  by  some  Columbian  dell, 
In  woody  grove  or  breezy  fell, 
His  art  divine  threw  sic  a  spell — 

It  seemed  indeed 
The  very  grund  was  Scotland's  sel' — 

But  Rankin's  dead ! 

When  Hallowe'en  or  blithe  New  Year, 
Or  auld  Saint  Andrew's  Day  drew  near, 
His  pipes  aye  roused  sic  social  cheer — 

Fowk  took  nae  heed, 
But  danced  till  they  could  hardly  steer — 
But  Rankin's  dead! 

When  kilted  Scots  made  grand  parade, 
In  bonnets  blue  an'  belted  plaid, 
Wi'  what  triumphant,  martial  tread 

He  took  the  lead ! 
Heroic  graces  round  him  spread — 

But  now  he's  dead ! 

Ilk  clansman  mark'd  his  manly  air, 
His  modest  mien  an'  form  sae  fair, 
The  eagle  eye,  the  raven  hair 

That  graced  his  head : 
Alas!  he'll  cheer  their  hearts  nae  mair — 

For  Rankin's  dead ! 

When  athletes  mustered  on  the  green, 
An'  feats  o'  strength  an'  skill  were  seen, 
What  rousing  blasts  he  blew  between, 

An'  pibroch's  skreed ! 
He  was  th'  Apollo  o'  the  scene — 

But  Rankin's  dead ! 


54  ANGUS   RANKIN'S   ELEGY. 

When  dancers  danced  the  Highland  Fling, 
How  Angus  made  the  welkin  ring ! 
Till  tune  an'  time  an'  ilka  thing 

Sae  fired  the  head, 
That  nimble  feet  amaist  took  wing — 

But  Rankin's  dead ! 

Come,  pipers,  ye  wha  lo'ed  him  weel; 
Come,  Cleland,  famed  for  blithesome  reel; 
Come,  Grant  an'  Laurie,  true  as  steel — 

An'  Peter  Reid, 
Come  blaw  some  weird  an'  wild  fareweel 

For  Angus  dead ! 

Come,  Music,  frae  thy  starry  sphere, 
Come  mourn  thy  loss  amang  us  here ; 
Gar  Fame  gae  sound  her  trumpet  clear, 

Till  a'  tak'  heed, 
An'  mournfu'  drap  a  kindly  tear 

For  Rankin  dead ! 


ST.  ANDREW  AND  THE  HAGGIS. 

E  time  Saunt  Andrew — honest  carl, — 
When  on  his  travels  through  the  warl', 
He  fand  himsel'  in  great  distress 
In  Macedonia's  wilderness : 
Grim  hunger  gnawed  his  wame  within, 
The  cauld  sleet  soaked  him  to  the  skin ; 
An'  buffeted  wi'  winds  unruly, 
He  lookit  like  a  tattie-dooly ; 
An'  trauchled  ae  way  or  anither, 
Tint  cowl  and  bauchles  a'thegither, 
An'  skelp'd  on  barefit  through  the  gloom 
In  patient,  perfect  martyrdom. 

A'  shivering  like  a  droukit  mouse, 

He  halted  at  the  halfway  house, 

An'  spreading  out  his  open  palms 

Fu'  meekly  beggit  for  an  alms. 

The  landlord  steer' d  na  frae  the  bit, 

But  e'ed  the  Saunt  frae  head  to  fit, 

An'  said:  "You  idle,  gangrel  crew, 

Coarse  crumbs  should  sair  the  like  o'  you ; 

1  set  ye  doun  this  bill  o'  fare — 

The  shakin's  o'  the  meal-pock  there, — 

Some  harigalds,  an'  sic-like  trash, 

That  puir  fowk  use  for  makin'  hash ; — 

Tak'  them,  an'  mixed  wi'  creeshie  dreep, 

Boil  in  the  stammack  o'  a  sheep; 


56      ST.  ANDREW  AND  THE  HAGGIS. 

An'  gin  your  greedy  gab  be  nice, 
There's  ingans  an'  a  shak'  o'  spice; — 
Fa'  to, — mak'  guid  use  o'  your  time, 
An'  ken  the  rift  o'  stappit  wame." 

The  Saunt  in  silence — shivering,  cauld, 
Made  up  the  mess  as  he  was  tauld ; 
An'  bent  him  canny  owre  the  pot, 
An'  render'd  thanks  for  a'  he  got; 
An'  ate  his  meal  wi'  cheerfu'  grace, 
An'  never  thraw'd  his  honest  face ! 

An'  aye  sin'  syne  on  Andrew's  nicht 
We  see  this  extraordinar'  sicht, — 
How  social  Scots  owre  a'  the  warP 
Will  leave  the  fu'  cog  an'  the  barrel, 
An'  smack  their  lips,  an'  rive  like  mad, 
At  sic  a  dish  as  Andrew  had. 
An'  'gainst  the  pangs  o'  flesh  an'  bluid 
They'll  roose  it  up  an'  ca'  it  guid, 
Though  feeling  in  their  heart's  ain  gloom 
Some  pangs  o'  Andrew's  martyrdom! 


THE  MONK  AND  THE  SPECTRE. 

E  morn,  as  ancient  legends  tell, 
A  monk  cam'  hirplin  frae  his  cell, 
An'  far  an'  near  a-begging  went 
In  favor  o'  his  patron  saint, 
But  barely  got  for  a'  his  care 
An  antrin  bawbee  here  an'  there; 
When,  as  the  night  began  to  fa', 
He  halted  at  a  lordly  ha', 
An'  pray'd  fu'  weary  an'  forlorn 
To  grant  him  shelter  till  the  morn, 
An'  vow'd  fu'  thankfu'  he  would  be 
For  ony  gift  they  had  to  g'ie. 

His  Lairdship  owre  his  deevil's  books 
Glower'd  sour  an'  didna  like  his  looks, 
An'  said  there  was  nae  room  to  spare 
But  ane,  an'  bogles  haunted  there ; 
An  awesome  place  to  pass  the  night, 
Wi'  sights  unfit  for  human  sight. 
"But,"  said  the  Laird,  "plain  truth  to  tell, 
He  looks  maist  like  a  ghaist  himseP ; 
Nae  fleshless  sprite  or  spectre  grim 
Could  ever  be  but  freends  wi'  him : 
Gae,  tak'  him  to  the  eerie  place — 
He'll  meet  but  marrows  face  to  face." 

Neist  morning  when  the  monk  cam'  doun, 
Then  a'  the  gentry  gather'd  roun', 
An'  sair  they  questioned  ane  an'  a' 
What  sounds  he  heard,  what  sights  he  saw. 


58  THE   MONK  AND   THE   SPECTRE. 

"Ah! "  quo'  the  monk,  "I  saw  a  sight 
Might  freeze  a  mortal  heart  wi'  fright — 
A  spectre  clad  frae  head  to  heel 
In  mouldy  brass  an'  rusty  steel, 
Whiles  stalk'd  about,  whiles  seem 'd  to  stand, 
Whiles  rax'd  to  me  a  bluidy  hand, 
While  sounds  cam'  dowff  frae  a'  it  did 
Like  clods  upon  a  coffin  lid !" 

"Preserve  us  a' !"  ilk  ane  replied; 
"Amen  to  that!"  his  Lairdship  cried. 
"An'  did  you  raise  your  sad  lament 
Fu'  fervent  to  your  patron  saint?" 
"Na,  na!"  the  monk  said;  "weel  I  wat 
I  kent  a  trick  worth  twa  o'  that ; 
I  doff'd  my  cowl  an'  spak  him  fair, 
An'  speer'd  if  he'd  a  plack  to  spare; 
But,  like  the  feck  o'  Adam's  race, 
He  wadna  look  me  in  the  face, 
Nor  drap  a  plack,  nor  bide  to  speak, 
But  vanish'd  like  a  waff  o'  reek." 

Weel  pleas' d  to  hear  his  pawky  wit, 
The  braw  fowk  laughed  till  like  to  split, 
An'  frae  their  purses  clinkit  doun 
The  cheenge  o'  mony  an  orra  crown ; 
An'  blithe  the  monk  saw  in  his  mind 
This  unco  truth  o'  humankind — 
That  he  wha  hings  a  hungry  mou' 
Will  find  it  hard  to  warsle  through; 
While  he  that  catches  ilka  chance 
An'  mak's  the  maist  o'  circumstance 
Is  sure  to  speed  the  dreichest  cause 
An'  win  his  fellow-men's  applause. 


LAMENT 

ON   THE  OCCASION   OF   THE   DEPARTURE   OF  ROBERT 
BUCHANAN,    THE  BRITISH   POET,    FROM   AMERICA. 

Y  Muse  fu'  dowie  faulds  her  wing, 

An'  nought  but  sabs  an'  sighs  she'll  bring: 
An'  sad-eyed  Sorrow  bids  me  sing, 

Her  tears  to  draw, 
How,  like  a  wild  bird  journeying, 
Our  Bard's  awa' ! 

O  Rab  was  bright  an'  warm  an'  free, 
Like  sunlight  on  a  simmer  sea ! 
He  aye  was  fu'  o'  mirth  an'  glee 

An'  wit  an'  a' ; 
An'  graced  wi'  gifts  o'  Poesy, — 

But  Rab's  awa' ! 

O  blythe  it  was  I  trow  to  trace 
The  sweet  saul  in  his  manly  face, 
His  blue  een  sparkling  kindly  grace 

On  ane  an'  a' : 
Rab  dearly  lo'ed  the  human  race, — 

But  Rab's  awa' ! 

The  puir  newspaper  chields  may  mourn, 
If  Rab  should  never  mair  return; 
His  words  cam'  like  a  bick'rin  burn 

An'  filled  them  a' : 
He  did  them  mony  a  friendly  turn, — 

But  Rab's  awa' ! 


60  LAMENT. 

Play-actor  billies  round  him  hung, 
An'  listened  to  his  silv'ry  tongue, 
That  sweet  as  only  clair'net  rung 

In  house  or  ha' : 
He  was  the  pride  o'  auld  an'  young, — 

But  Rab's  awa' ! 

The  lang-haired  literary  louns 
That  live  real  puir  in  muckle  touns, 
Will  miss  him  for  the  royal  boons 

He  shower'd  on  a', — 
Bright  silver  bits  as  big's  half-crowns, — 

But  Rab's  awa' ! 

O  when  he  met  wi'  men  o'  spirit, 
Real  clever  cheilds  o'  modest  merit, 
Owre  oysters  an'  a  glass  o'  claret, — 

O  then — hurrah ! 
The  very  earth  they  did  inherit, — 

But  Rab's  awa' ! 

That  day  he  gaed  on  board  the  ship, 
He  gied  my  hand  a  kindly  grip, 
An'  while  a  tremor  shook  his  lip, 

Said— "Tell  them  a' 
They'll  never  frae  my  memory  slip 

When  I'm  awa'." 

Quo'  I,  wi'  heart  as  saft  as  jeel, 

"Braw  be  your  chance  in  Fortune's  wheel; 

May  seas  slip  past  your  sliding  keel 

Wi'  canny  jaw, 
An'  may  the  bodies  use  ye  weel 

When  far  awa'." 


LAMENT.  61 

Sin'  syne  I  muse  on  Fortune's  quirk : 
She  shines,  then  leaves  me  in  the  mirk ; 
I  canna  sleep  nor  wreat  nor  wirk, 

Nor  ought  ava, — 
I'm  doited  as  a  daunder'd  stirk 

Sin'  Rab's  awa'. 

But  whiles  round  Friendship's  wreathed  urn 
Hope's  vestal  fires  fu'  brightly  burn; 
An'  though  the  vanish'd  joys  I  mourn 

That  blossomed  braw, 
Wha  kens  but  Rab  may  yet  return? — 

Though  Rab's  awa'  I 


ELEGY 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JAMES   FLEMING,    THE   SCOTTISH 
ATHLETE. 

a'  ye  athletes  crouse  an'  keen, 
Frae  Gallowa'  to  Aberdeen, 
Wha  like  to  loup  or  put  the  stane, 

Or  rin  a  race, 

Come,  let  the  tear-draps  frae  your  een 
Rin  doun  your  face. 

The  noble  Fleming's  breath'd  his  last! 
My  namely  muse  stands  maist  aghast 
To  mark  how  Fortune's  cauldrife  blast, 

In  hapless  time, 
Has  laid  him  low  ere  barely  past 

His  manly  prime. 

Oh,  Jamie  was  a  gallant  chield 

As  ever  stood  in  open  field ! 

His  stalwart,  grand,  heroic  build, 

And  honest  face, 
To  admiration  aye  appeal'd 

In  ilka  place. 

Nae  pride  had  he  like  them  langsyne, 
When  athletes  maist  were  thought  divine, 
When  years  o'  practice  they'd  combine, 

Wi'  nae  sma'  scaith, 
For  olives  on  their  brows  to  twine 

Or  laurel  wreath. 


ELEGY   ON  JAMES   FLEMING.  63 

For  though,  in  mony  a  manly  feat, 
Braw,  buirdly  chields  by  him  were  beat, 
He  ne'er  was  fash'd  wi'  sour  conceit 

Like  mony  a  gowk ; 
But  wrought  his  wark  an'  gaed  his  gate 

Like  ither  fowk. 

What  visions  rise  on  memory's  e'e, 
Wi'  glints  o'  joyous  youth  to  me, 
When  thrangin'  thousands  in  their  glee 

Cam'  round  the  ring, 
Where  Jamie  in  his  majesty 

Was  like  a  king ! 

An'  aye  sae  blythe  he  took  a  part 

In  ilka  feat  o'  manly  art, 

Nae  man,  however  bauld  or  smart, 

In  lith  or  limb, 
Could  ever  daunt  the  lion  heart 

That  beat  in  him. 

0  weel  he  liked  in  Lowland  touns 
To  warsle  wi'  the  English  loons; 
He  didna  play  at  ups  an'  douns — 

An  idle  trick — 

But  garr'd  their  heels  flee  owre  their  crowns 
In  double  quick ! 

At  running  races,  short  or  lang, 

1  wat  ye  couldna  come  him  wrang : 
When  to  the  hill  wi'  furious  thrang 

They  swat  an'  fyked, 
The  first  half-mile  he  let  them  gang 
As  fast's  they  liked — 


64  ELEGY  ON  JAMES  FLEMING. 

But  fleetly  hameward  on  the  track, 
When  little  headway  they  could  mak', 
He  led  the  whazzlin'  stragglers  back 

In  proud  career, 
Fu'  fleetly  springing  and  as  swack 

As  ony  deer. 

At  caber-tossing,  when  the  rest 

Had  trauchled  sair  an'  dune  their  best, 

Then  Jamie  to  the  final  test 

Wi'  power  advanced — 
Fierce  as  a  cyclone  in  the  West — 

An'  owre  it  danc'd! 

An'  grand  it  was  to  ane  an'  a' 
To  see  him  poise  the  iron  ba', 
Then  send  it  wi'  a  spring  awa' 

As  clean's  a  quoit — 
While  owre  the  lave  an  ell  or  twa 

He  garr'd  it  skyte ! 

An'  O,  it  set  him  aye  sae  weel 

At  Highland  fling  or  foursome  reel ; 

Fu'  blithely  he  could  cut  an'  wheel 

Wi'  manly  grace, 
An'  modest  smiles  aye  wreath'd  genteel 

On  Jamie's  face. 

But  Jamie's  strength  and  Jamie's  grace — 
The  pride  o'  Scotland's  stalwart  race — 
Has  found  a  lang,  last  resting-place 

Beyond  the  deep, 
Where  far  Australia's  headlands  trace 

Their  rocky  steep. 


ELEGY   ON  JAMES   FLEMING.  65 

An'  though  cauld  death,  the  last  o'  ills, 
Earth's  weary  care  forever  stills, 
'Twere  kind  amo'  the  Athole  hills 

To  hae  him  laid, 
Mourn' d  by  the  murmur  o'  the  rills, 

Row'd  in  his  plaid. 

But  maybe  'yont  the  Southron  seas, 

Far  aff  at  the  Antipodes, 

Like  thistle-down  upo'  the  breeze, 

The  wandering  Scot 
May  come,  an'  wi'  a  tear  bapteese 

The  hallowed  spot. 

God  shield  his  saul  in  Heaven's  high  hame! 

Few  earn  a  braver,  kindlier  name ; 

An'  though  he's  cross'd  dark  Lethe's  stream 

Frae  human  e'e, 
His  memory,  like  a  gowden  dream, 

Will  bide  wi'  me. 


TO  THE   SHADE  OF  BURNS, 

ON   THE   OCCASION  OF  UNVEILING  A  STATUE  TO   HIS 
MEMORY  IN  CENTRAL  PARK,    NEW  YORK. 

RIGHT  spirit,  whose  transcendent  song 
Hath  charmed  earth's  utmost  bound, 
Till  from  her  solitudes  among 
Comes  ringing  back  the  sound. 

Come  where  the  wild  Atlantic  waves 
Have  hush'd  their  ceaseless  roar, 

And,  softly  as  a  zephyr,  laves 
Columbia's  happy  shore. 

See  where  the  thronging  thousands  stand 

In  reverence  to  thee ; 
The  witching  charm, — the  magic  wand, — 

Thy  matchless  minstrelsy ! 

They  see  in  monumental  bronze 

Thy  manly  form  and  face; 
They  hear  in  music's  sweetest  tones 

Thy  spirit's  grander  grace. 

And  though  from  many  lands  they  came, 

To  brotherhood  they've  grown, 
By  thee  their  pulses  throb  the  same, 
Their  hearts  are  all  thy  own. 
66 


TO   THE   SHADE   OF   BURNS.  67 

And  we  whose  childhood's  home  was  thine, 

What  joy  thy  memory  brings ! 
To  us  thou  seem'st  as  more  divine 

Than  earth-created  things. 

For  all  youth's  fairy  scenes  and  glee, 

Loves,  hopes  and  fancies  fain, 
In  Poesy's  art  illumed  by  thee, 

Come  back  to  us  again ; 

And  past  and  present  all  appear 

Transfigured  by  thy  grace, 
Till  Hope  points  where  in  grander  sphere 

We'll  meet  thee  face  to  face. 


THE  SONGS  OF  SCOTLAND. 

H"         < 


OW  dear  to  ev'ry  Scottish  heart 
Are  Scotland's  melodies! 


They  sweeten  life's  dull  atmosphere 

Like  perfume  in  the  breeze : 
Blithe  as  the  wild  bird's  artless  notes 

The  greenwood  groves  among, 
Earth's  sweetest,  noblest  thoughts  are  those 

That  warble  into  song. 

Their  mellow  music  circles  round 

The  glad  earth  far  and  free, 
Like  light  they  leap  from  land  to  land 

And  flash  from  sea  to  sea, 
Till  wakened  echoes  gladly  ring 

In  ev'ry  vale  and  hill, 
And  earth  and  air,  exultant,  catch 

The  quick  electric  thrill. 

How  bright  to  fancy's  eye  they  bring 

Fair  Scotland's  classic  land! 
Her  hills,  in  purple  splendor  clad, 

Rise  cloud-like,  high  and  grand ; 
Her  rustling  wealth  of  golden  fields 

Wave  'neath  the  glad'ning  ray, 
Her  silv'ry  waters  flash  among 

Her  valleys  green  and  gay. 

tt. 


THE   SONGS   OF  SCOTLAND.  69 

Fair  flow'rets  bloom  in  tints  that  mock 

The  rainbow's  dazzling  dyes, 
And  daisies  ope  with  modest  grace 

Their  myriad  starry  eyes; 
While  all  the  glow  of  social  life 

Comes  group'd  in  living  throngs, 
Transfigured  by  the  magic  grace 

And  beauty  of  her  songs. 

And  where  have  love's  impassioned  throes 

E'er  found  so  sweet  a  tongue? 
No  mimic  frenzy  mocks  the  heart 

When  Scotland's  songs  are  sung: 
Their  artless  words,  their  liquid  notes, 

In  perfect  tones  express 
The  matchless  might  of  manly  grace 

And  woman's  tenderness. 

While,  buoyant  on  the  tide  of  time, 

What  glorious  tales  they  tell 
Of  freemen  battling  for  the  right — 

Of  gallant  foes  that  fell ! 
Of  heroes  who  tempestuous  rose 

The  tyrant's  touch  to  spurn ; 
The  glowing  pride  of  Stirling  Bridge — 

The  joy  of  Bannockburn ! 

O  Scotland !  raise  thy  crested  head 

Above  the  azure  sea : 
Thou  art  the  home  of  worth  and  truth, 

The  cradle  of  the  free. 
Where'er  the  eye  of  Time  shall  see 

Bold  Freedom's  flag  unfurl'd, 
Thy  songs  shall  stamp  thy  sons  among 

The  freemen  of  the  world. 


70  THE   SONGS  OF   SCOTLAND. 

Thy  voice  in  thunder  ever  pleads 

The  cause  of  human  wrongs : 
Thy  seal  is  set,  thy  fame  is  fixed 

Eternal  as  thy  songs, 
Whose  clarion  blasts  shall  bravely  ring 

In  Freedom's  battle  van, 
Until  triumphant  they  shall  hail 

The  unity  of  Man ! 


THE  REFUGEES. 

PORT   ROYAL  FERRY,    COOSAW  RIVER,  SOUTH  CARO 
LINA,    APRIL,    1862. 

beside  the  Coosaw  River, 
'Neath  the  night  fog's  dreary  pall, 
Nothing  stirr'd  the  sullen  silence 
Save  the  rebel  sentry's  call. 

Sullenly  as  crouching  panthers, 
In  the  thicket,  fierce  and  grim, 

Strode  the  wary,  watchful  pickets 
By  the  dusky  river's  brim. 

There  the  Highlanders  were  gathered, 

Who  to  battle  had  come  forth, 
Rank'd  beneath  the  flag  of  Freedom, 

Muster'd  with  the  loyal  North. 

Scottish  fires  of  valor  stirred  them 

With  the  spirit  of  their  race ; 
And  they  long'd  to  meet  the  foemen 

In  a  battle,  face  to  face. 

But  the  days  pass'd  by  unchalleng'd, 
And  the  sickly,  Southern  swamp 

Breath'd  its  fetid,  foul  miasma 
Through  the  sullen,  silent  camp. 
71 


72  THE   REFUGEES. 

Fierce  the  lurid  eye  of  heaven, 
Seem'd  to  mock  their  mortal  ills 

"With  the  furnace  fires  of  noonday 
And  the  damp  night's  sudden  chills. 

Here  and  there  the  low  palmettos 
Hung  their  drooping  plumes  of  green, 

Listless  as  the  silent  armies, 
And  the  waters  spread  between. 

Oft  the  Scots  in  fancy  wander' d 
O'er  the  wide  Altantic  sea, 

Where  the  idle  winds  of  heaven 
Blew  in  springtime  freshness  free; 

Where  the  hills  in  Highland  heather, 
On  their  vision  high  and  grand, 

Rose  in  all  the  purple  splendor 
Of  their  loved,  their  native  land. 

Where  the  scent  of  rainbow  blossoms 
Nature's  incense  sweet  combines, 

Blending  all  the  balmy  breezes 
With  the  odor  of  the  pines. 

Where  the  green  and  golden  glory, 
Of  the  glad  fields  sweep  along, 

And  the  air  is  all  melodious 
With  the  skylark's  warbled  song. 

Little  dream' d  they  of  the  summer, 
With  its  havoc-kindling  breath, 

With  its  fiery  blasts  of  battle, 
With  its  harvest  fields  of  death  j 


THE   REFUGEES.  73 

Of  the  charge  at  James'  Island, 

Through  the  blazing  batteries'  smoke, — 

Of  the  storm  at  dark  Chantilly, 

Where  the  heavens  in  thunder  spoke ! 

Or  of  trampling  fallen  foemen 

On  South  Mountain's  ghastly  ridge, 

Or  of  charging  through  the  tempest 
At  Antietam's  bloody  bridge. 

But  there  came  a  touch  of  action, 
One  prophetic,  brightening  beam, 

Breaking  in  a  flash  of  triumph 
On  the  Coosaw's  murky  stream. 

When  beyond  the  darken'd  river, 

Dim  beside  the  drooping  trees, 
Beckoning  to  take  them  over, 

Stood  a  band  of  refugees. 

By  the  first  dull  dawn  of  morning 

Eager  forms  they  darkly  trace; 
Hear  them  faintly  calling  to  them, 

Dimly  see  each  ebon  face. 

Soon  the  Highlanders  are  helping, 

Soon  they  ply  the  busy  oar, 
Clearing  fast  the  dusky  waters 

Till  they  reach  the  rebel  shore. 

But  behold !  where  down  the  causeway, 

Sloping  to  the  river's  brim, 
Rebel  horse  and  cannon  coming, 

Dashing  onward,  fiercely  grim. 


74  THE   REFUGEES. 

And  ere  yet  each  loyal  oarsman 
On  the  backward  journey  sets, 

See  the  Coosaw's  sedges  bristling 
Into  glittering  bayonets ! 

See  the  gleaming  guns  unlimber'd ! 

Hear  the  rattling  ramrod's  blow; 
See  the  brazen,  murd'rous  muzzles 

Level'd  at  them  as  they  row! 

Will  the  gallant  oarsmen  falter 
And  for  mercy  now  implore? 

Never! — silence  is  but  broken 
By  the  steady-striking  oar. 

Not  a  single  word  is  spoken ; 

Teeth  are  set  and  tongues  are  dumb, 
Waiting  for  the  shower  of  grape-shot, 

With  the  cannon's  breath  to  come! 

But  behold !  each  keen  eye  brightens 
As  they  hear  the  new  alarms — 

Drums  are  rolling — bugles  warbling — 
Calling  Union  men  to  arms. 

There — a  line  of  level'd  rifles, 

There  are  charges — shell  and  shot, — 

Ramm'd  by  loyal  cannoneers 
In  the  cannon's  brazen  throat. 

Fierce  they  aim  beyond  the  river 
At  the  dark,  rebellious  host, 

Fierce  they  aim,  but  in  a  moment 
All  the  embattled  view  is  lost. 


THE   REFUGEES.  75 

Naught  is  there  but  gray  mist  hanging 

Low  on  river  and  on  wood, 
And  the  shrivel'd  sedges  standing 

Where  the  Rebel  foemen  stood. 

And  the  boat  in  triumph  onward, 

Hailed  by  Union  Volunteers, 
Strikes  the  happy  shores  of  Freedom, 

In  a  burst  of  ringing  cheers. 

While  the  negroes  seem'd  transfigured 
As  from  Slavery's  bondage  then, 

Freedom's  rapture  overcame  them 
In  the  ranks  of  freeborn  men. 

How  the  first  glad  gleam  of  morning 

Shining  in  the  eastern  skies, 
Glorified  their  happy  faces 

And  illumed  their  grateful  eyes. 

Till  they  seemed  with  joy  enraptured 

Telling  in  their  ecstasy, 
Earth's  serenest,  brightest  sunshine 

Is  the  light  of  liberty. 

So  in  Freedom's  cause  forever, 

Wheresoe'er  her  battles  be, 
Thus  shall  Scotland's  sons  be  ready 

'Mong  the  valiant  and  the  free. 

Foremost  in  the  day  of  peril, 

Bravest  in  the  hour  of  fight, 
They  await  no  proclamation 

In  the  cause  of  human  right. 


76  THE   REFUGEES. 

From  the  past  the  martial  story 
Of  their  prowess  boldly  brings 

Visions  of  heroic  battles 

Where  the  burnish'd  armor  rings. 

Telling  to  the  storied  centuries, 
'Mid  a  list'ning  world's  applause, 

Scottish  swords  are  ever  ready 
To  be  drawn  in  Freedom's  cause. 

Scottish  hearts  and  hands  responsive, 
Battle  for  the  highest  good, 

Hastening  on  the  coming  Union 
Of  our  common  brotherhood ! 


THE  TWO   BROTHERS. 

AT  JAMES  ISLAND,    SOUTH   CAROLINA,    JUNE,  16  '62. 

}HEY  march'd  to  battle,  side  by  side, 

Two  brothers,  young  and  fair; 
And  youthful  beauty  graced  each  brow, 
Bedeck'd  with  golden  hair; 
And  lion-hearted  courage  gleamed 
In  their  heroic  air. 

And  when  the  cannon  boom'd  above 

The  ringing  Rebel  yell, 
And  charging  columns  crouch'd  beneath 

The  shower  of  shot  and  shell, 
The  brothers  stood  like  demons  in 

The  lurid  fires  of  hell ! 

From  right  to  left  each  flash  that  burst 

And  cleaved  the  midnight  sky, 
Revealed  each  bayonet's  glittering  gleam 

And  lit  each  flashing  eye, 
As  forward,  side  by  side,  they  strode, 

Resolved  to  do  or  die. 

Full  well  before  that  battle  blast 

The  bravest  heart  might  quail, 
As  thinner  grew  the  charging  ranks 

Beneath  the  iron  hail, 
As  sheaves  are  level'd  to  the  earth 

Before  an  autumn  gale. 

77 


78  THE   TWO   BROTHERS. 

Till  fiercely  on  the  rampart's  height 

The  Rebel  foemen  feel 
The  wildly  grand  terrific  dash 

Of  waves  of  levePd  steel, 
And  fast  before  that  Northern  charge 

Their  shatter' d  squadrons  reel. 

A  moment  on  the  bristling  crest 
The  brothers  bravely  stand, 

A  gleam  of  triumph  on  each  face; 
Each  waves  a  battle  brand, 

But  hark !  the  distant  bugles  call 
A  sudden,  strange  command. 

And  backward  o'er  the  hard-won  field 

The  gallant  victors  go ; 
Again  the  frowning  ramparts  hide 

The  vanquish 'd  Rebel  foe; 
Again  the  batteries'  blasting  breath 

Lays  many  a  hero  low. 

Till  scarce  beyond  the  battle  storm 
And  shrieking  shell  and  shot, 

They  close  the  riven  ranks,  they  fling 
The  starry  flag  afloat ; 

One  brother  answers  to  the  call, 
The  other  answers  not. 

Deep  from  the  brother's  stricken  heart 

In  pangs  of  dark  despair, 
Is  breath'd  in  sobs  of  silent  woe 

The  breath  of  silent  prayer, 
When  through  the  serried  ranks  he  finds 

His  brother  is  not  there. 


THE  TWO   BROTHERS. 

He  gazes  o'er  that  field  of  death 

A  moment,  and  is  gone ; 
Back  through  the  drifts  of  battle  wreck 

Among  the  dead  alone, 
He  seeks  the  fallen  in  the  field, 

And  views  them  one  by  one. 

His  eyes  grow  dim  as  comrades  lie 

Before  his  eager  sight, 
Full  well  he  knows  each  marble  face 

That  glimmers  ghastly  white 
Beneath  the  waning  moon  and  stars 

That  dim  their  spectral  light. 

At  last  when  near  the  fatal  fort, 

Amid  the  carnage  dire, 
He  sees  the  fallen  form  he  loves, 

He  clasps  his  heart's  desire. 
The  foemen  see  them,  and — behold ! 

A  sudden  flash  of  fire ! 

And  side  by  side  the  brothers  fall, 

Lock'd  in  a  fast  embrace; 
And  side  by  side  the  eye  of  day 

Beholds  them  face  to  face, 
Laid  'neath  the  Carolinian  sod 

In  their  last  resting-place. 

One  flag  waves  free  o'er  all  the  land 
For  which  they  nobly  died ; 

One  wreath  of  evergreen  entwines 
The  brave  in  battle  tried ; 

And  they  who  fall  in  Freedom's  cause 
By  death  are  glorified ! 


80  THE  TWO   BROTHERS. 

In  endless  calm  they  dwell  serene 
In  Fame's  high  Parthenon; 

Their  voices  echo  down  the  years 
In  truth's  eternal  tone; 

To  higher  aims,  to  nobler  deeds 
Their  souls  are  marching  on. 


AMONG  THE  GRAMPIAN  HILLS. 

LAD   AND   LASS. 

OMETIMES  by  rocky  heights  they  stray'd, 
Sometimes  by  deep  and  ferny  glade, 
And  sometimes  on  by  pathways  green, 
Along  the  bank  of  deep  ravine, 
While  far  beneath,  in  headlong  force, 
Some  mountain  torrent  cleav'd  its  course, 
And  woke  the  echoes  from  their  sleep 
With  wrathful  brawlings  loud  and  deep. 
Sometimes  the  soaring  falcon  spread 
His  quivering  pinions  overhead, 
And  hung,  unmoved,  as  if  intent 
To  watch  the  wand'rers  as  they  went; 
And  sometimes  springing,  fleet  and  fast, 
The  stately  red  deer  bounded  past, 
And  paused  between  them  and  the  sky 
To  turn  a  soft  and  wondering  eye. 
In  hollow  vales  by  dark  green  woods 
Sweet  music  charm'd  the  solitudes: 
The  blackbird  led  the  vocal  choir, 
The  skylark,  like  a  flash  of  fire, 
Seem'd  glittering  bright  the  clouds  among 
And  pour'd  his  flood  of  fervid  song; 
The  merry  linnet,  in  the  bush, 
Sang  sweetly  to  the  answering  thrush; 

81 


82  AMONG  THE  GRAMPIAN  HILLS. 

And  to  the  lovers  ev'rything 
Proclaimed  a  joyous  welcoming. 
For  them  all  things  of  earth  and  air 
Seem'd  blent  in  beauty  bright  and  fair; 
To  them  all  things  seem'd  glad  and  young; 
For  them  the  woodland  echoes  rung ; 
For  them  a  thousand  dazzling  dyes 
Of  flow'rets  oped  their  dewy  eyes. 
In  shady  nooks  the  primrose  lent 
A  golden  grace  where'er  they  went; 
While  laden  bees,  on  tireless  wings, 
Humm'd  soft  their  drowsy  murmurings. 
Beneath,  the  purple  heather  spread ; 
The  bluebell  raised  its  modest  head 
And  quiver'd  on  its  tender  stem, 
As  if  'twere  glad  to  look  at  them. 
Aloft,  the  bright  red  rowans  shone; 
The  foxglove  waved  the  wanderers  on. 
The  green  firs  spread  their  ample  shade 
By  many  a  sweet  and  silent  glade, 
And  seem'd  to  woo  the  happy  pair 
To  look  and  pause  and  linger  there. 


AMONG  THE  CATSKILL  MOUNTAINS. 

OFTLY  the  mist-mantled  mountains  arise 
Dim  in  the  dawning  of  opal-hued  skies; 
Brighter  and  brighter  the  highlands  are  seen 
Robed  in  the  splendor  of  emerald  green ; 
Nearer  and  clearer  peaks  burst  on  the  view, 
Lightened  by  silvery  flashes  of  dew. 
Valley  on  valley  comes,  hill  upon  hill, 
Streamlet  to  streamlet  and  rill  unto  rill. 
Gracefully  garlanded  foliage  of  vines, 
Wilderness- wreaths  that  encircle  the  pines, 
Clasp  the  dark  underland,  cunningly  weaves 
All  the  wild  wonderland,  lab'rinth  of  leaves. 
Rainbow-hued  flowerets  blossom  to  view, 
Purple  and  amethyst,  orange  and  blue, 
Starry-eyed,  tassel-hung,  fold  upon  fold, 
Whiter  than  silver  and  brighter  than  gold. 
Hemlock  and  cedar  boughs,  maple  and  beech 
Crowd  into  clusters  and  whisper  in  speech. 
Poplars  majestic  as  sentinels  stand, 
Fir  trees  on  fir  trees  rise  solemn  and  grand. 
Summits  are  laurel-crowned,  each  crag  receives 
Wonderful  wealth  of  luxuriant  leaves 
Gilt  with  a  glory  where  golden-rods  bloom, 
Redden'd  where  ripe  berries  blush  in  the  gloom. 
Hangs  the  fruit  banquet-like,  luscious  and  sweet, 
Dropping  in  prodigal  wealth  at  my  feet. 

83 


84  AMONG  THE  CATSKILL  MOUNTAINS. 

Cool  the  dark  coverts  are,  dim  the  green  shades, 

Lofty  the  leafy  roofs  arching  the  glades. 

Underfoot,  woven  wreaths  twining  the  stems, 

Overhead,  crested  plumes  splendid  with  gems. 

O,  to  dwell  ever  here!     Summit  of  bliss! 

Where  is  the  fairyland  fairer  than  this? 

Earth  hath  not  fairer  or  grander  to  see, 

Fancy  not  rarer  that  cometh  to  me. 

Day-dreams  that  haunt  me  come  fair  to  the  sight, 

Dreams  that  enchant  me  illumine  the  night. 

Oft  in  the  desert  of  life's  joyless  throng, 

Dear  as  the  mem'ries  that  echo  in  song, 

Comes  the  green  mountain  land,  fresh  in  its  grace, 

Sweet  as  a  smile  on  a  beautiful  face, 

All  the  white  wonders  of  day- dawns  arise, 

All  the  bright  splendors  of  sapphirine  skies; 

All  the  gay  gladness  of  beauty  and  bloom, 

All  the  sweet  sadness  of  silence  and  gloom, 

All  the  glad  story  of  forest  and  flower, 

All  the  red  glory  of  sunsetting  hour, 

Comes  till  I  seem  to  lie  lapp'd  in  bright  dreams, 

LulPd  by  the  lullaby  murmur  of  streams ! 


IN   MEMORIAM. 

J.    C.    M. 

E  SLEEPS;  and  o'er  his  honored  tomb 
Let  June's  enamelled  verdure  grow : 
Earth's  fairest  gems  no  purer  bloom 
Than  he  who  rests  below. 

He  lived  as  lived  the  hallowed  saints 

To  darker  ages  kindly  given, 
Whose  presence  lent  life's  discontents 

A  healing  touch  of  heaven. 

He  came,  and  earth  new  beauty  wore — 

Ev'n  care  assumed  a  gentle  grace; 
And  darkening  doubts  aye  fled  before 

God's  sunshine  in  his  face. 

I  loved  him ;  yet  I  grieve  not  now, 

Though  quenched  that  wealth  of  golden  speech. 
Nor  mourn  though  glory  gilds  his  brow 

Beyond  my  little  reach. 

Around  me  still  his  friendship  clings, 

Upon  my  path  his  blessiDg  lies, 
Sweet  as  the  light  from  angel's  wings 

That  beams  and  beautifies. 

His  voice  still  greets  me  from  afar, 

Like  anthems  echoing  far  away; 
His  presence  fades  but  as  a  star 

That  melts  in  perfect  day. 
85 


SONGS. 

THE   BONNIE   LASS   THAT'S    FAR    AWA'. 

HE'S  far  awa'  that  won  my  heart, 

The  lassie  wi'  the  glancing  een; 
Nor  Nature's  wark,  nor  mortal's  airt, 
Can  bring  me  aught  sae  rare  I  ween ; 
For  though  the  seas  row  deep  between, 
An'  lanely  looks  baith  house  an'  ha', 
Fond  recollection  aye  keeps  green 
The  bonnie  lass  that's  far  awa'. 

Or  if  at  time  frae  mem'ry's  e'e 

She  fades  as  gloaming  fades  to  night, 
If  but  some  winsome  lass  I  see, 

Wi'  jimpy  waist  an'  een  that's  bright, 
My  heart  gaes  fluttering  at  the  sight, 

An'  staps  the  breath  I'm  gaun  to  draw, 
While  fancy  paints  in  glowing  light 

The  bonnie  lass  that's  far  awa'. 

Glide  by,  ye  weary  \vinter  days; 

Glide  by,  ye  nights  sae  lang  an'  drear; 
How  swiftly  sped  time's  gowden  rays, 

When  Simmer's  sang  an'  love  were  here. 
Then  come,  sweet  Spring,  revive  the  year, 

Bring  verdure  to  the  leafless  shaw, 
An'  bring  the  lass  that  I  lo'e  dear — 

The  bonnie  lass  that's  far  awa'. 
86 


CAM'  YE  OWRE  THE  FULTON  FERRY? 

ye  owre  the  Fulton  Ferry? 
Heard  ye  pipers  bravely  blaw? 
Saw  ye  clansmen  blithe  an'  merry 
In  the  Caledonian  Ha'? 
A'  their  siller  brooches  glancing, 

A'  their  tartan  waving  green, 
A'  their  glorious  mirth  an'  dancing, 
Were  na  match  to  bonnie  Jean. 

Ilka  lad  wasglow'rin'  at  her, — 

Vow  but  mony  ane  was  fain; 
Pawky  rogues  forgot  to  flatter, 

Wishing  Jeanie  were  their  ain. 
When  she  spak'  they  stood  an'  wondered, 

As  when  subjects  hear  a  queen ; 
Lasses  too  were  maist  dumfounder'd — 

A'  the  lads  were  after  Jean. 

Lang  they've  wrought  on  plans  for  bringing 

A'  the  bodies  to  the  ha' ; 
Some  would  come  to  hear  the  singing, 

Some  to  see  a  friend  or  twa. 
A*  their  schemes  hae  seen  conclusion, 

They  may  rest  content  I  ween ; 
Fowk  gae  thrangin'  by  the  thousan' 

Just  to  look  at  bonnie  Jean. 
87 


O  MARY,  DO  YE  MIND  THE  DAY? 

MARY,  do  ye  mind  the  day 

When  we  were  daffin  on  the  green? 
Sae  sweet  an'  couthie  's  ye  did  say 
Your  gentle  heart  was  gien  to  nane. 
The  opening  bloom  o'  seventeen, 

Like  violet  begun  to  blaw, 
Grac'd  ilka  charm,  when  saft  at  e'en 
Ye  bade  me  bide  a  year  or  twa. 

An*  years  hae  pass'd,  sweet  lass,  sin*  syne — 

Lang  years  upon  life's  stormy  sea, 
But  bright  an'  brighter  aye  ye  shine 

The  beacon  light  o'  memory's  e'e; 
An'  aye  my  thoughts  flee  back  to  thee, 

Like  swallows  wing'd  frae  far  awa'; 
An'  aye  I  mind  ye  said  to  me, 

"O  laddie,  bide  a  year  or  twa." 

Then,  lassie,  come  wi'  a'  thy  charms, 

I  wat  I'm  wearied  o'  myseP ; 
I'll  clasp  thee  in  my  longing  arms, 

An'  aye  thegither  we  will  dwell. 
O  gar  my  heart  wi'  rapture  swell, 

O  dinna,  dinna  say  me  na, 
For  brawly  do  ye  mind  yoursel' 

Ye  bade  me  bide  a  year  or  twa. 
88 


NOW  SIMMER  CLEEDS   THE   GROVES  IN 
GREEN. 

OW  simmer  deeds  the  groves  in  green, 

An'  decks  the  flow'ry  brae ; 
An'  fain  I'd  wander  out  at  e'en, 
But  out  I  daurna  gae. 
For  there's  a  laddie  down  the  gate 

Wha  's  like  a  ghaist  to  me; 
An'  gin  I  meet  him  air  or  late, 
He  winna  lat  me  be. 

He  glow'rs  like  ony  silly  gowk, 

He  ca's  me  heavenly  fair; 
I  bid  him  look  like  ither  fowk, 

An'  fash  me  sae  nae  mair. 
I  ca'  him  coof  an'  hav'rel  too, 

An'  frown  wi'  scornfu'  e'e; 
But  a'  I  say,  or  a'  I  do, 

He  winna  lat  me  be. 

My  cousin  Kate  she  flytes  me  sair, 

An'  says  I  yet  may  rue; 
She  rooses  aye  his  yellow  hair 

And  een  o'  bonnie  blue. 
Quo'  she,  "If  e'er  ye  want  a  man, 

Juist  bid  him  wait  a  wee." 
I  think  I'll  hae  to  tak'  her  plan — 

He  winna  lat  me  be. 
89 


MARY  WI'  THE  GOWDEN  HAIR. 

ARY  wi'  the  gowden  hair, 

Bonnie  Mary,  gentle  Mary; 
O  but  ye  are  sweet  an'  fair, 
My  winsome,  charming  Mary. 
Your  een  are  like  the  starnies  clear, 
Your  cheeks  like  blossoms  o'  the  brier, 
An'  O  your  voice  is  sweet  to  hear, 
My  ain,  my  bonnie  dearie. 

But  dearer  than  your  bonnie  face, 

Bonnie  Mary,  gentle  Mary, 
Or  a'  your  beauty's  bloom  an'  grace, 

My  winsome,  charming  Mary, 
Is  ilka  motion,  void  o'  airt, 
That  lends  a  grace  to  ilka  pairt, 
An'  captivates  ilk  manly  heart, 

Wi'  love  for  thee,  my  dearie. 

But  Mary,  lassie,  tak'  advice, 

Bonnie  Mary,  gentle  Mary; 
Be  mair  than  guid,  braw  lass, — be  wise, 

My  winsome,  charming  Mary, 
An'  gie  your  heart  to  ane  that's  true, 
Wha'll  live  to  love  nae  ane  but  you; 
An'  blithe  you'll  be  an'  never  rue, 

My  ain,  my  bonnie  dearie. 
90 


BONNIE  NORANSIDE. 

HEN  joyfu'  June  wi'  gladsome  grace 
Comes  deck'd  wi'  blossoms  fair, 
An'  twines  round  Nature's  bonnie  face 
Her  garlands  rich  and  rare, 
How  swift  my  fancy  wings  awa' 

Out  owre  yon  foaming  tide, 
And  fondly  paints  each  leafy  shaw 
On  bonnie  Noranside ! 

O  sweetly  there  the   wild  flow'rs  spring 

Beside  the  gowany  lea ! 
O  blithely  there  the  wild  birds  sing 

On  ilka  bush  and  tree! 
While  purple  hills  an'  valleys  green, 

Array'd  in  Simmer's  pride, 
Spread  lavish  to  the  longing  een 

By  bonnie  Noranside. 

Ye  Powers  wha  shape  our  varied  track 

On  life's  uncertain  sea, 
As  bright  there  comes  in  fancy  back 

Youth's  fairy  scenes  to  me, 
Sae  bring  me  back,  I  fondly  pray, 

To  where  my  auld  freends  bide, 
To  spend  ae  lee  lang  Simmer's  day 

By  bonnie  Noranside. 
91 


BONNIE  JEAN. 

'HERE  Feugh  rins  to  the  winding  Dee, 

'Mang  meadows  fresh  an'  green; 
An'  bluebells  deck  the  gowany  lea, 
By  stately  Cloch-na-Ben, 
There  dwells  a  lass  fu'  blithe  an'  gay, 

Wi'  bonnie  laughing  een ; 
The  balmy  summer's  sunny  day 
Nae  fairer  is  than  Jean. 

How  cheery  rings  the  shelfa's  sang 

Amang  the  hazel  howes ! 
An'  fair  the  gowden  tassels  hang 

Upon  the  gay,  green  kowea ! 
Sweet  blossoms  tempt  the  wand 'ring  bee, 

Fair  as  the  rainbow's  sheen ; 
Sae  shines  in  beauty's  bloom  to  me 

The  rosy  cheeks  o'  Jean. 

0  aft  on  fancy's  fairy  wing, 
That  wanders  far  and  free, 

1  come  in  bright  imagining 
Frae  ower  th'  Atlantic  sea. 

While  mem'ry  paints  ilk  leafy  shaw, 

Ilk  meadow  fair  an'  green ; 
But  aye  serene  aboon  them  a* 

I  mind  on  bonnie  Jean. 
93 


I  WONDER    IF    THE    BONNIE    LADDIE 
THINKS  ON  ME. 

QKi 

t   WONDER  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me; 
I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me ; 
There's  a  dimple  on  his  chin  and  a  sparkle  in 

his  e'e — 
And  I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me ! 

Now  June  has  spread  her  mantle  green  on  ilka  bank 

and  brae 
An'  blooms  are  hanging  on  the  broom  and  blossoms 

on  the  slae ; 
The  birds  are  singing  to  their  mates  on  ilka  bush  an' 

tree — 
And  I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me ! 

The  sun  is  shining  in  the  lift  sae  bonnie  and  sae  clear; 
O,  June's  the  brawest,    blythest  month   o'   a'   the 

happy  year! 
For  then  the  flowers  I  like  the  best  they  bloom  sae 

fair  and  free — 
And  I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me! 

He  daurna  look  the  airt  o'  me  for  fear  his  mither 

frown ; 

I  daurna  look  the  airt  o'  him  for  fowk  about  the  toun ; 

93 


94    DOES  THE   BONNIE   LADDIE   THINK   ON   ME. 

But  whiles  I  canna  help  but  catch  the  glad  glance 

o'  his  e'e — 
O,  I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me  I 


I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me; 
I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me; 
There's  a  dimple  on  his  chin  and  a  sparkle  in  his 

e'e— 
And  I  wonder  if  the  bonnie  laddie  thinks  on  me ! 


LYRICAL   CHARACTER  SKETCHES. 

"  Unskilled  the  subtle  lines  to  trace, 

Or  softer  shades  of  Nature's  face, 
I  view  her  common  forms  with  unanointed  eyes." 

— Whittier. 


THE  ANXIOUS   HITHER. 

AE  doot  the  mither's  guid  advice, 
Had  help'd  to  mak'  the  lad  sae  wise, 
For  she  ne'er  slowth'd  his  education, 
In  keepin'  aye  frae  a'  temptation, 
Especially  aye  to  bear  in  mind 
An'  no  tak'  up  wi'  womankind. 
"Tak'  wha  ye  like  amang  the  rest, 
They're  but  a  heart- brak  at  the  best ; 
Nae  worth  their  lugs," — she  used  to  say, — 
"No  nane  the  same  's  when  in  my  day 
They  used  to  be  whaur  they  were  bid  in' 
Aye  gath'rin'  a'  kind  o'  providin', 
Sae  when  they  married  they  could  see 
Their  house  filled  as  it  ought  to  be; 
But  noo-a-days  they  didna  care, 
For  feint  the  thing  they  had  to  spare; 
For  a'  their  weel-won,  hard-earn'd  cash 
Was  thrown  awa'  on  feckless  trash, 
To  cleed  their  backs  or  busk  their  tap; 
What  use  were  they  to  ony  chap? 
Sic  jauds  would  never  think  't  a  sin 
To  spend  mair  than  their  men  could  win." 
95 


96  THE  ANXIOUS   MITHER. 

Thus  Jean  would  argue — Jock,  douce  youth, 

Thocht  this  was  gey  an'  near  the  truth, 

An'  had  resolved  that  come  what  will, 

He'd  aye  bide  wi'  his  mither  still — 

Nae  lass  would  ever  hae  the  blame 

O'  wilein'  him  awa'  frae  hame, 

Nor  lead  him  on  to  nae  disgrace. 

But  sic  resolves  in  mony  case 

Are  juist  like  frost,  that  hauds  like  death 

Till  ance  it  finds  the  simmer's  breath ; 

Though  it  may  hap  the  torrent's  pride, 

An'  freeze  the  burn  frae  side  to  side, 

Till  they  nae  sign  o'  life  may  show, 

The  water  runs  unseen  below, 

An'  when  the  slack'nin'  thowes  begin, 

The  ice  gies  way  wi'  little  din, 

An'  helps  to  swell  the  burnies'  roar 

That  it  had  tried  to  stap  before. 


THE  LIGHTSOME  LASS. 

JHERE  cam'  a  lass  to  that  same  toun, 
Whaur  Jock  wrocht  sin'  he  was  a  loon,- — 
A  clever  quean,  baith  frank  an'  free, 
An'  blithesome 's  ony  lass  could  be; 
For  she  could  sing  a  rantin'  sang, 
Or  dance  wi'  glee  the  hale  nicht  lang ; 
An'  lads  would  strive — sae  pleas'd  to  see  her, 
To  hae  the  chance  o'  dancin'  wi'  her. 
An'  mony  ane  would  whisper  licht, — 
"Jess,  I'm  gaun  hame  wi'  you  the  nicht." 

The  douce  auld  folk  aft  shook  their  heads, 
As  if  her  mirth  bespoke  misdeeds, 
An'  prophesied  sic  glaiket  dame 
Would  some  day  bring  hersel'  to  shame, 
An'  lang  palavers  aften  made; 
But  Jess  ne'er  minded  what  they  said, — 
Auld  hav'rin'  bodies,  she  would  tell, 
Forget  when  they  were  young  themsel'. 

What  signified  their  idle  jeer, — 
They  could  na  say  that  Jess  was  sweer, 
Nor  weirdless,  for  there  ne'er  was  seen 
A  country  lass  mair  trig  an'  clean; 
An'  aye  when  't  was  her  Sabbath  oot, 
For  Jess  was  'greed  for  week  aboot, 
She  never  bade  at  hame  frae  kirk, 
Though  hard  aneuch  she  had  to  wirk 
97 


98  THE  LIGHTSOME   LASS. 

The  hale  week  through  in  barn  or  byre; 
But  Jess,  stout  lass,  ne'er  spak'  o'  tire, 
But  started  aff,  sometimes  her  lane 
Four  guid  lang  miles  if  it  were  ane. 
Nor  gaed  she  there  to  mak'  a  show, — 
Though  whiles  her  neibours  said  't  was  so; 
She  heeded  nae  sic  ill-tongued  vermin, 
But  paid  attention  to  the  sermon, 
An'  aften  put  them  a'  to  shame 
In  afternoons  when  she  cam'  hame, 
For  she  would  get  them  a'  thegither, 
An'  lecture  them  like  ony  mither, 
An'  skelps  o'  preachings  she  would  tell 
As  guid's  the  minister  himsel'. 


THE  AULD-FARRANT  CARL. 

UT  mark  me,  lad,  aye  bear  in  mind, 
An'  keep  frae  drink  o'  a'  kin-kind, 
An'  aye  observe  the  Sabbath  day 
Whatever  ither  fowk  may  say. 
Wear  ye  a  guid  coat  if  ye  can, 
For  maist  o'  fowk  aye  judge  the  man 
Far  mair  by  what  's  upon  his  back, 
Than  what's  intill  him, — though  the  fact 
Stands  guid — that  it  's  aye  best  to  be 
Better  than  what  the  common  e'e 
Might  judge  ye, — but  though  't  cost  ye  fyke, 
Try  aye  an'  no  look  orra  like. 

Dinna  be  keen  to  get  acquaint 
Wi'  ilka  ane,  for  gin  ye  want 
Help  frae  a  freend,  ye' 11  sune  find  out 
There  's  nae  a  puirer  substitute 
Than  wide  acquaintance, — ance  begin 
To  prove  a  friend — through  thick  an'  thin, 
Stick  till  'im;  but  aye  understand 
Afore  ye  lend  a  helpin'  hand 
To  ony  ane,  how  far  his  need 
Requires  ye,  for  should  ye  exceed 
His  wants,  ye' 11  maistly  aye  depend, 
'T  will  turn  out  thankless  at  the  end. 
Should  ye  be  kept  at  poortith's  brink, 
Keep  up  your  heart  nor  let  ane  think 
99 


100  THE  AULD-FARRANT   CARL. 

Your  purse  is  toom — 't  will  do  nae  guid, 
Although  the  fact  be  understood, 
An'  maist  o'  fowk  somehow  or  ither 
Think  sense  an*  siller  gangs  thegither. 

What  orra  time  ye  hae  to  spare, 
Ware  't  na  on  rinnin'  here  an'  there, 
But  owre  'n  abune  your  daily  wark, 
Hae  ye  some  ither  worthy  mark 
To  aim  at, — though  success  in  sma's 
May  come,  yet  like  the  drap  that  fa's 
Doun  frae  the  roofs  o'  sparry  caves, 
Unheard  't  may  be  'mang  plash  o'  waves, 
But  ilka  drap  brings  bits  o'  lime 
That  gath'rin'  in  the  course  o'  time 
Builds  up  itsel'  in  grand  extent 
An  everlasting  monument. 


THE  WITLESS  LADDIE. 

ANDERSON  was  an  apprentice  loun 
Wha  sair'd  his  time  in  Dundee, 
The  lichtsomest  lads  ye  could  meet  i'  the  toun 
Were  feint  a  bit  blither  than  he. 
An'  he  has  gaen  north  out-owre  the  hill 

To  dance  his  New  Year's  reel, 
An'  through  the  deep  snaw  he's  wander'd  awa', 
For  Tarn  was  a  lang-leggit  chiel. 

An'  Tarn  had  a  lass  that  lived  i'  the  North, 

An'  a  canty  auld  mither  forby, 
As  kind  an  auld  bodie  's  e'er  lived  on  the  earth, 

An'  Tarn  was  her  pride  an'  her  joy. 
An'  lang  they  had   look'd  for  the  blithesome  new 
year, 

An'  counted  the  days  ere  they  cam', 
For  blithe  was  the  thought  o'  the  joy  to  be  brought 

Wi'  the  grand  hame-coming  o'  Tarn. 

The  crusie  was  lighted  on  Hogmanay  night, 

An'  hung  i'  the  window  sae  clear, 
An'  the  auld  mither  watch' d  by  the  gleam  o'  the 
light 

To  see  gin  her  laddie  was  near. 
An'  the  lassie  that  lived  at  the  fit  o'  the  brae, 

Her  heart  was  gaun  duntin  I  trow, 
As  she  busk'd  hersel'  braw  in  her  wincey  an*  a', 

An'  her  hair  wi'  ribbons  o'  blue. 
101 


102  THE   WITLESS   LADDIE- 

But  Tarn  had  just  come  to  the  fit  o'  the  glen 

Whaur  the  yill-house  stands  a'  alane, 
An'  there  was  sic  rowth  o'  young  women  an'  men 

As  blithesome  as  ever  were  seen ; 
An'  Tarn  being  cauld  wi'  the  frost  an'  the  snaw, 

He  ventured  to  look  in  a  wee, 
An'  ilk  ane  cried,  "Tarn,  here,  man,  tak'  a  dram, 

Tarn  Anderson,  drink  wi'  me." 

The  lasses  thrang'd  round,  for  they  likit  Tarn  weel, 

A  braw  strappin'  lad  was  he, 
Till  Tarn's  frozen  shanks  grew  souple  's  an  eel, 

An'  his  head  grew  light  as  a  bee; 
Till  rantin'  wi'  this  ane,  an'  drinking  wi'  that, 

An'  laughing  an'  dancing  wi'  glee, 
He  thought  nae  a  hair  on  his  mither  nae  mair 

Nor  the  lass  wi'  the  bonnie  blue  e'e. 

His  mither  sat  late,  his  mither  sat  lang, 

An'  waefu'  forebodings  had  she, — 
O  whaur  was  her  laddie? — O  surely  some  wrang 

Had  keepit  him  yet  in  Dundee. 
An'  the  lassie  she  sat  by  the  fire  alane, 

As  dowie  as  dowie  could  be; 
Ilk  sough  o'  the  blast  sae  eerie  blew  past, 

But  brought  na  the  joy  o'  her  e'e. 

Sae  the  auld  year  pass'd  amid  frolic  an'  din, 

Whaur  Tarn  was  the  king  o'  the  core : 
As  sune  as  the  breath  o'  the  new  year  cam'  in 

The  youngsters  made  aff  to  the  door; 
An'  some  wad  gae  here,  an'  some  wad  gae  there, 

To  ca'  on  their  neibors  sae  crouse, 
But  Tarn  he  set  aff  wi'  the  help  o'  his  staff 

To  seek  for  his  mither's  bit  house. 


THE   WITLESS   LADDIE. 

But  whaur  he  had  wander'd  there's  nae  ane  can  tell, 

He  paidlet  through  thick  an'  through  thin; 
But  ere  it  was  morning  he  cam'  to  himsel' 

Wi'  a  plash  owre  the  lugs  i'  the  linn. 
His  hands  were  a'  scarted,  his  coat  was  a'  spoiled 

Wi'  mony  a  rive  an'  a  tear, 

His  teeth  chatter'd   grim,  ye'd  hae  hardly  kenn'd 
him, 

An'  the  tangles  hung  stiff  on  his  hair. 

In  this  waefu'  like  plight  like  a  warlock  he  cam 

An'  rapp'd  at  his  auld  mither's  door; 
Themither  gaed  running  an' crying,  "Here's  Tarn!" 

An'  then  loot  a  terrible  roar. 
She  swarf 'd  clean  awa'  as  gin  she  was  dead, 

Till  Tarn  took  her  up  on  his  knee, 
An'  he  brought  her  round  frae  her  terrible  stound, 

Crying  "Hither,  O  mither,  it  's  me!" 

"Preserve's!"    cried  the  mither,   "O  Tarn,  is  that 
you? 

O  sirs!  but  ye've  gien  me  a  fright; 
My  poor  cauldrife  laddie,  my  ain  dawtie  doo, 

O  whaur  hae  ye  been  a'  the  night? 
Let  me  lay  your  claes  by,  O  Tammy,  my  man, 

Tak'  aff  your  stockings  an'  shoon ; 
Lie  doun  for  a  wee,  an'  lat  sleep  close  your  e'e; 

O  me,  but  you're  daidlet  an'  dune!" 

An'  glad  was  poor  Tarn  to  get  rest  to  his  shanks, 

An'  sleep  to  his  drumlie  e'e; 
For  wi'  ranting  an'  drinking  an'  playing  his  pranks, 

It's  unco  forfouchten  was  he. 


104  THE   WITLESS   LADDIE. 

An'  he  bade  his  mither  to  wauken  him  up 
As  sune  as  he'd  haen  a  bit  nap; 

An'  she  put  a  het  pan  to  his  feet — poor  man : 
An'  he  sune  was  as  soun'  as  a  tap. 


The  neibors  ca'd  in  wi'  the  scraigh  o'  the  day, 

An'  speer'd  if  young  Tammas  had  come; 
The  mither  gaed  cannie  to  whaur  Tammie  lay, 

But  Tarn  was  baith  deaf  and  dumb. 
She  cowpit  him  owre  and  sang  in  his  lug, 

She  kittled  the  soles  o'  his  feet, 
But  he  slept  as  serene  as  though  he  had  been 

Streik't  out  in  his  winding  sheet. 

Wi'  pleasure  an'  sport  a'  the  kintra  through, 

The  auld  an'  the  young  were  right  keen, 
But  Tarn's  mither  watch'd  like  a  sentinel  true, 

While  Tarn  never  open'd  his  een; 
Till  just  as  the  gloamin'  was  wearing  to  night 

Some  lads  frae  the  neighboring  toun 
Ca'd  in  wi'  a  dram  an'  up  loupit  Tarn, 

Array'd  in  his  mither's  night-gown. 

Dumfounder'd  he  glower'd  like  a  throwither  chiel, 

While  ilka  ane  laugh'd  at  the  sight; 
An'  the  piper  he  screwed  up  his  drones  for  a  reel, 

An'  struck  up  a  lilt  wi'  might. 
Tarn  chirkit  his  teeth  an'  he  danc'd  wi'  spite, 

An'  he  knockit  the  piper  right  doun; 
An'  as  ilka  ane  made  for  the  door  an'  fled, 

Tarn  swore  like  an  English  dragoon. 


THE   WITLESS   LADDIE.  105 

How  he  greed  wi'  his  mither,  what  vows  had  been 
heard 

By  the  lass  wi'  the  bonnie  blue  e'e; 
What  grand  resolutions  the  lad  had  declared, 

It  maks-na  to  you  or  to  me. 
But  the  truth  to  be  learn' d  frae  lessons  like  Tarn's 

Might  be  sung  in  a  measure  sublime: 
At  duty  strive  mair,  count  pleasure  a  snare, 

An'  joys  they  will  come  in  their  time. 


THE  HOTEL  KEEPER: 

AN   ELEGY. 

(,H,  grewsome  death,  what  gar'd  ye  harl 
My  auld  freend  to  the  ither  warl? 
Now  when  ye've  toom'd  life's  leaky  barrel 

Out  to  the  bung, 

A  couthy,  leal,  kind-hearted  carle 
Was  Maister  Young. 

Ye  weel-fed  boarders,  ane  an'  a', 

Like  simmer  show'rs  let  tear-draps  fa' ; 

The  gong  hings  silent  on  the  wa' 

That  aft  he  rung. 
Wha  now  will  you  to  dinner  ca' 

Like  Maister  Young? 

He  ne'er  set  doun  nae  feckless  trash, 
Nor  soup  made  he — puir  useless  plash ; 
An'  mooly  cheese  an'  rotten  hash 

Outside  he  flung ; 
We  got  the  worth  aye  o'  our  cash 

Frae  Maister  Young. 

At  dinner  time  when  we  gaed  in, 
Sae  cheery  wi'  the  plates  he'd  rin, 
An'  brought  us  corned  beef  cut  thin, 

An'  fine  sliced  tongue, 
Forby  potatoes  i'  the  skin — 

Wad  Maister  Young. 
106 


THE   HOTEL  KEEPER.  107 

When  ither  fowk  wad  laugh  an'  jeer, 
An'  thought  that  I  spak  braid  an'  queer, 
He  aften  said  he  liked  to  hear 

My  hameowre  tongue ; 
An'  aye  I  likit  to  sit  near 

Auld  Maister  Young. 

When  rows  got  up  about  the  place, 
An'  drucken  chields,  that  had  na  grace, 
Wad  fecht  an'  tear  themsel's  like  beas', 

An'  roar'd  an'  sung, 
They  cautioned  when  they  saw  the  face 

O'  Maister  Young. 

Wi'  lang-tongued  chields  he  didna  mix,, 
Wha  fash'd  their  heads  wi'  politics, 
His  hatred  at  them  he  did  fix 

As  stiff's  a  rung,— 
They  got  nae  credit  for  their  tricks 

Frae  Maister  Young. 

He'd  aye  things  right  whate'er  th'  expense, 
An'  hated  sham  an'  vain  pretence, 
An'  though  at  times  't  wad  gie  offense, 

To  truth  he  clung, 
Regardless  o'  the  consequence, 

Did  Maister  Young. 

When  July  comes,  if  I  am  spared, 
I'll  journey  to  the  lane  kirk-yaird 
Whaur  low  he  lies,  and  hae  't  declared 

That  ilka  tongue 

Can  read  how  truth  was  virtue's  guard 
To  Maister  Young. 


THE  CALEDONIAN   CHIEF. 

A   LAMENT. 

What  sad  disaster's  this  befa'n  us? 
What  ill  wind  now  is  this  that's  blawn  us? 
My  heart  grows  cauld  as  wintry  Janus; 

Preserve  us  a' ! 
Our  noble  Chief — our  Coriolanus — 

Our  John's  awa'. 

As  bits  o'  starnies  show  their  light, 
When  ance  the  sun  is  out  o'  sight, 
Sae  mony  a  self-conceited  wight 

Now  crouse  will  craw 
There's  nane  to  gie  their  nebs  a  dicht 

Sin'  John's  awa'. 

Sae  skill'd  was  he  in  ilka  thing, 
That  when  his  argument  he'd  bring, 
A'  lowse  discussion  sune  took  wing, 

As  wreaths  o'  snaw 
Evanish  at  the  voice  o'  Spring- 
But  John's  awa'. 

And  if  at  times  puir  spite  was  girnin, 
And  through  the  by-laws  some  were  kirnin, 
His  common  sense,  like  candle  burnin', 

Showed  clear  to  a' 
The  sterling  worth  that  I  am  mournin* 

Sin*  John's  awa'. 
108 


THE  CALEDONIAN  CHIEF.  1Q9 

When  to  the  games  the  club  would  muster, 
An'  Yankees  wi'  their  fan  an'  duster 
Like  bees  around  the  ring  would  cluster 

In  mony  a  raw — 
He  was  our  center-piece — our  lustre — 

But  John's  awa'. 

When  mauchtless  athletes  whiles  would  grudge, 
An'  gied  our  Chief  a  sly  bit  nudge, 
To  favor  them  he  wadna  budge 

His  mind  a  straw ; 
He  was  a  siccar  weel-skilled  judge — 

But  John's  awa'. 

Sae  wise  was  his  administration 
Fu'  weel  I  saw  our  situation, 
An'  sair  I  press'd  his  nomination, 

But  he  said  na : 
He'd  haen  aneuch  o*  exaltation — • 

Now  John's  awa'. 

O  Fortune,  but  you're  sair  to  blame, 
That  raised  our  club  to  muckle  fame, 
Then,  like  ane  wauken'd  frae  a  dream, 

A  change  we  saw; — 
We've  tint  the  best  half  o'  our  name 

Sin     John's  awa'. 


THE  LECTURER. 

MBITION  aften  leads  a  chield 

To  unco  slips  and  errors, 
Whaur,  grim  as  ony  battlefield, 
He  meets  wi'  mony  terrors, 
An'  sairly  mourns  the  luckless  fate 

That  met  him  ere  he  kent  it, 
Forgetting  that  he  sought  sic  gate, 
Nor  wadna  be  contented. 

Poor  Donald,  yet  I  mind  him  weel, 

That  time  when,  bauld  as  Hector, 
He  fancied  till  himsel',  poor  chiel, 

He'd  like  to  gie  a  lecture; 
An'  logically  showed  that  mist 

Aft  dims  a  sunny  radiance, 
An'  vow'd  the  only  thing  he  wiss'd 

Was  juist  a  list'ning  audience. 

Now  Donald  was  nae  dosent  gowk, 

Tho'  juist  a  wee  conceited, 
He  understood  the  ways  o'  fowk, 

An'  kittle  points  debated. 
Wi'  hair  unkamed  an'  een  ablaze, 

He  was  a  moral  study; 
He  didna  even  wear  his  claes 

Like  ony  common  bodie. 
110 


THE  LECTURER.  ill 

Some  'prentice  louns,  fu'  fond  o'  fun, 

Soon  laid  their  heads  thegither, 
To  bring  to  light  that  darken'd  sun — 

Nor  did  they  halt  nor  swither, 
But  hired  a  ha' ;  an'  through  the  toun 

Wi'  muckle  praise  they  heez'd  him, 
An'  in  the  papers  up  an'  doun 

Fu'  grand  they  adverteesed  him. 

An'  hermit-like  poor  Fraser  then 

Kept  close  within  his  cloister, 
As  kittle's  ony  clocking  hen, 

An'  close  as  ony  oyster. 
Whiles  through  the  keyhole  fowk  would  keek 

In  eager  expectation, 
An'  see  him  stamp,  an'  hear  him  speak 

In  fiery  declamation. 

Some  said  when  rapt  in  lofty  mood 

He  utter'd  awfu'  sayin's, 
That  blanch' d  the  cheek,  an'  chilled  the  blood, 

An'  flegg'd  the  verra  weans. 
It  looked  as  if  he  seemed  to  scan 

Some  elemental  brewin' — 
Some  dark  wrang  waft  in  Nature's  plan, 

An*  then  the  crash  o'  ruin. 

Poor  chield !  he  little  kenn'd  the  end 

O'  a'  his  preparation, 
How  first  his  heart  gied  sic  a  stend 

An'  then  took  palpitation. 
How  choked  his  voice,  though,  truth  to  tell, 

He'd  chow'd  some  sugar-candie ; 
Forby  he'd  fortified  himsel' 

Wi'  twa  'r  three  nips  o'  brandy 


112  THE  LECTURER. 

But  de'il-ma-care,  as  soon's  he  saw 

The  thrang  o'  glow'rin  faces, 
His  wits  an*  courage  fled  awa', 

An'  terror  took  their  places. 
His  chattering  teeth  an'  trembling  legs 

Were  automatic  wonder; 
An'  then  a  show'r  o'  rotten  eggs 

Crashed  round  his  lugs  like  thunder. 

In  fury  first  he  tore  his  hair; 

Then  gaped  his  mou'  to  mutter; 
But  some  ane  choked  his  wild  despair 

Wi'  half-a-pound  o'  butter — 
Then  wild  he  sprauchled  round  the  stage 

Like  ony  Jockie-blindy; 
Then  dash'd  his  head  in  frantic  rage 

Out  through  the  big  ha'  window. 

Now  lat  ilk  honest  man  tak'  tent, 

An'  heedna  vain  ambition; 
But  try  an'  dwall  at  hame  content, 

An'  mind  his  ain  condition. 
Should  love  o'  glory  lure  ye  on, 

Like  Hannibal  or  Ca3sar, 
O !  for  a  moment  think  upon 

The  doom  o'  Donald  Eraser. 


THE  PLAY-ACTOR. 

'ANG  PETER  was  an  unco  loun, 

A  queer  catwittit  creature; 
An'  nought  could  please  him  up  or  doun, 
But  rinnin'  to  the  theatre. 
He  bore  his  mither's  wild  tirwirrs, 

For  sad  an*  sair  it  rack'd  her, 
To  think  that  weel-born  bairn  o'  hers 
Would  turn  a  waugh  play-actor. 

But  Peter  wadna  baud  nor  bind, 

But  lived  in  firm  adherence 
That  some  grand  chance  some  day  would  find 

His  lang-look'd-for  appearance; 
And  whiles  he  gaed  to  sic  a  height 

Wi'  Shakespeare's  grand  creations, 
That  fowk  were  deav'd  baith  day  an'  night 

Wi'  skelps  o'  recitations. 

An'  sae  it  chanced,  an  orra  rake 

Aft  gripp'd  in  want's  cauld  clutches; 
Though  like  a  Jew,  aye  on  the  make 

In  ilka  thing  he  touches, 
Had  fa'n  upon  an  unco  ploy — 

Puir  chield,  an  unco  pity — 
To  play  the  drama  o'  "Rob  Roy" 

Owreby  in  Brooklyn  City. 
113 


114  THE   PLAY-ACTOR. 

Frae  far  an'  near  the  show  fo\\  k  earn', 

Puir  hungry-looking  villains, 
An'  some  would  play  juist  for  a  dram, 

An'  some  for  twa  'r  three  shillings; 
But  Peter  sought  nae  baser  kind 

O'  monetary  clauses, 
But  offered  free  his  heart  an'  mind, 

In  hopes  to  win  applauses. 

And  had  ye  seen  him  on  that  night 

When    . .  the  stage  thegither, 
I  wat  he  was  a  gallant  sight 

For  marching  through  the  heather; 
Wi'  tartan  kilt  an'  braid  claymore, 

An'  buckles  glancing  rarely, 
Like  chieftains  i'  the  days  o'  yore 

That  fought  for  Royal  Charlie. 

But  how  can  e'er  my  muse  rehearse 

The  sad,  the  sair  misfortune, 
Or  paint  that  sight  in  modest  verse, 

How  when  they  raised  the  curtain, 
A  chield  stood  winding  up  the  claith 

Like  playing  on  hurdy-gurdies, 
An'  in  rowed  Peter's  tartan  graith, 

An'  hung  him  by  the  hurdies! 

A  yell  broke  frae  th'  astonished  crowd, 

The  very  sky  it  rent  it; 
Some  glaiket  lassies  skirl 'd  fu'  loud. 

An'  ithers  near-hand  fainted. 
Puir  Peter  squirmed,  an'  lap  an'  sprang, 

Just  like  a  new-catch'd  haddock, 
An'  kick'd  his  heels  wi'  fearfu'  spang 

Arnaist  like  ony  puddock. 


THE  PLAY-ACTOR.  115 

Some  tried  to  free  him  frae  his  plight, 

They  cam  but  little  speed  o'  't, 
Ane  broke  the  handle  in  his  might, 

Juist  when  they  maist  had  need  o'  't. 
A  chield  grown  desp'rate  i'  the  case 

Shut  aff  the  big  gas  meter, 
An'  brought  thick  darkness  owre  the  place 

An'  some  relief  to  Peter. 

Daft  gowk !  he  minds  his  mither  now, 

His  stage  career  is  ended; 
An'  may  ilk  foolish  prank,  I  trow, 

Thus  be  at  first  suspended. 
Ye  youths  wha  court  the  public  e'e 

Keep  back  in  canny  clearance, 
Or  some  disaster  ye  may  dree 

Like  Peter's  first  appearance. 


THE  PEDDLER. 

EN  ye  ought  o'  Wat  the  peddler? 

Vow,  but  he's  a  graceless  vaig; 
Sic  a  waefu'  wanworth  meddler 
Weel  deserves  a  hankit  craig. 

Mony  ane  he's  sair  tormented, 
Driven  women's  heads  agee, 

Till  their  dreams  wi'  Wat  are  haunted, 
Peddling  wi'  his  puckle  tea. 

Ilka  ane  wi'  spite  he  stounds  aye, 
Aft  their  doors  they'll  tightly  lock; 

Wat,  regardless,  goes  his  rounds  aye, 
Reg'lar  as  an  aucht-day  clock. 

Fient  the  rap  afore  he  enters, 
Slap  the  door  gangs  to  the  wa', 

Bauldly  in  the  villain  ventures, 
Peddler,  paper-pocks,  an'  a'. 

But  the  foot  o'  rude  intrusion 

Wanders  whiles  to  sorrow's  schule; 

And  the  hand  o'  retribution 

Wrought  the  peddler  muckle  dule. 

Jean  Macraw,  that  carefu'  creature, 
Cleans  her  house  with  fashious  fyke, 

Night  and  day — it  is  her  nature — 
Working  aye  as  hard  's  ye  like. 
116 


THE    PEDDLER.  11? 

Now,  the  chairs  and  stools  she's  drilling) 

Ben  the  house  in  rankit  raw ; 
Now  she's  prappit  near  the  ceiling, 

Straikin  whitening  on  the  wa'. 

Little  thought  she,  worthy  woman — 

Busy  wi'  her  mixture  het — 
O'  the  waefu'  peddler  comin', 

Or  the  droukin  he  would  get. 

In  he  bang'd,  the  whitening  whummlet 

Wi'  a  sclutter  owre  his  skull ; 
Backlin's  headlang  doun  he  tummlet — 

Buller'd  maist  like  ony  bull. 

Dazed  was  he  an'  fairly  doitit, 

Rack'd  wi'  anguish  o'  despair, 
Sprauchled  up,  then  owre  he  cloitit, 

Cowpit  catmaw  doun  the  stair. 

Auld  an'  young  in  tumult  gather'd, 
Jeannie  danc'd  an'  craw'd  fu'  crouse, 

Wives  delighted,  blithely  blather'd, 
Roars  o'  laughter  shook  the  house. 

Wat,  puir  chield — nane  did  lament  him — 
Clear'd  his  een  and  sought  the  road, 

Aff  an'  never  look'd  ahint  him, 
Rinnin'  like  a  hunted  tod. 


THE  INVENTOR. 

YE  wha  're  to  invention  gien, 
Wha  work,  like  moudywarts,  unseen 
To  bring  to  light  some  new  machine — 

Ye  men  o'  worth, 

Your  handiwark  's  no  worth  a  preen 
Frae  this  henceforth. 

A  chield  has  come  o'  wondrous  sleight, 
Whase  cunning  hand  and  deep  insight 
Dispels  ilk  film  that  dims  the  flight 

O'  fancy's  ray, 
Like  vapors  fleeting  at  the  light 

O'  dawning  day. 

I  doubtna  some  will  sneer  an'  snarl 
To  hear  that  ae  auld-farrant  carl 
Has  flash'd  like  ony  pouther  barrel, 

An'  shown  himseP, 
Throughout  the  hale  mechanic  warl* 

He  bears  the  bell. 

O  could  you  see  him  in  his  glory — 
A  sma'  room  in  an  upper  storey — 
His  rev'rend  pow  like  winter,  hoary — 

His  kindling  een, 
An'  hear  the  deep  mysterious  story 

O'  ilk  machine. 
118 


THE   INVENTOR.  119 

Some  work  wi'  bauks  that  shog  or  swing, 
Some  rin  wi'  weights  that  wag  or  hing, 
Some  hum  like  bees,  some  wi'  a  spring 

Come  thuddin'  roun', 
Some  whirr  like  partricks  on  the  wing 

Wi'  rattling  soun'. 

An'  then  what  countless  ends  an'  uses — 
What  wonner-wark  ilk  thing  produces— 
There's  souters'  awls  an'  tailors'  guses 

That  work  their  lane, 
An'  rams  for  dingin  doun  auld  houses 

OJ  brick  or  stane. 

What  polish'd  cranks!  what  grand  confusion! 

Like  some  fantastic  wild  illusion ; 

What  cantrip  skill !  what  rowth  o'  fusion, 

That  mak's  nae  fyke 
To  hoist  tons  by  the  hunder  thousan', 

As  heigh's  ye  like! 

Forby,  what  wrangs  his  skill's  been  right'ning! 
Nae  boilers  now  exploding,  fright'ning; 
His  patent  streaks  o'  harness'd  lightning 

Does  a'  the  wark — 
Our  comfort  and  our  power  he's  height'ning 

Out  owre  the  mark. 

O  grant  him  soon  a  noble  pension, 
And  joy  beyond  a'  comprehension; 
And  may  the  tither  new  invention 

Expand  his  fame, 
Till  fowk  in  rapture  blithely  mention 

The  bodie's  name. 


THE  CURLER. 

p~» 

S2  AW  ye  e'er  a  ret'ran  curler 

f&f        Mourning  owre  a  broken  stane, 

When  the  game  is  at  the  thrangest, 
Ere  the  hin'most  shot  is  ta'en? 

How  the  past  comes  up  before  him, 
Like  a  gleam  o'  gowden  light ! 

How  the  present  gathers  o'er  him, 
Like  a  stormy  winter's  night ! 

Doun  he  sits  upon  his  hunkers — 
Lifts  the  pieces  ane  by  ane; 

Mourns  the  day  he  cam'  to  Yonkers — 
Vows  he's  lost  a  faithfu'  frien' ! 

Doun  the  rink  comes  Davie  Wallace, 

Tears  o'  pity  in  his  e'e, 
Vex'd  an'  sad  his  very  saul  is, 

Sic  a  waesome  sight  to  see. 

Weel  he  kens  that  throbs  o'  anguish 
Wring  the  vet'ran's  heart  in  twa; 

Da  vie' s  feelings  never  languish — 
Davie  kens  we're  brithers  a'. 

An'  he  speaks  him  kindly — "Saunders, 
Weel  I  wat  you've  fash  aneuch; 

But  let  grieving  gae  to  Flanders — 
Keep  ye  aye  a  calmer  sough. 


THE  CURLER.  121 

Stanes  will  gang  to  crokonition, 

Hearts  should  never  gang  agee ; 
Plenty  mair  in  fine  condition — 

Come  an'  send  them  to  the  tee." 

"Wheesht!"  says  Saunders,  "dinna  mock  me — 

Cauld's  the  comfort  that  ye  gie; 
Mem'ries  gather  like  to  choke  me 

When  ye  speak  about  the  tee. 

Whaur's  the  stane  I  could  depend  on? 

Vow  my  loss  is  hard  to  bear ! 
Stanes  an'  besoms  I'll  abandon — 

Quat  the  curling  evermair. 

Weel  I  mind  the  day  I  dress'd  it, 

Five-an' -thirty  years  sin'  syne, 
Whaur  on  Ailsa  Craig  it  rested — 

Proud  was  I  to  ca'  it  mine. 

Owre  the  sea,  stow'd  i'  the  bunkers, 

Carefu'  aye  I  strave  to  fend, 
Little  thinking  here  at  Yonkers 

I  would  mourn  its  hinder  end. 

Saw  ye  aft  how  ilk  beginner 

Watch  'd  it  aye  wi'  envious  eye? 
Canny  aye  it  chipp'd  the  winner: — 

Never  fail'd  to  chap  an'  lie. 

Ne'er  ahint  the  hog  score  droopin' — 

Ne'er  gaed  skitin  past  the  tee; 
Skips  ne'er  fash'd  themsel's  wi'  soopin' 

When  they  saw  my  stane  an'  me." 


122  THE   CURLER. 

Round  the  ither  curlers  gather, 
Some  lament  wi'  serious  face; 

Some  insist  it's  but  a  blether — 
Aft  they've  seen  a  harder  case. 

Davie  lifts  the  waefu'  bodie, 
Leads  him  aff  wi'  canny  care, 

Brews  a  bowl  o'  reekin  toddy, 

Bids  him  drown  his  sorrows  there. 

But  his  heart  is  like  to  brak  aye, 
An'  he  granes  the  tither  grane, 

Gies  his  head   the  tither  shake  aye, 
Croons  a  cronach  to  his  stane. 

Sune  the  toddy  starts  him  hoisin, 
Sune  he  grows  anither  chiel — 

Glorious  hameward  reels  rejoicin* 
Wi'  his  senses  in  a  creel ! 


THE  QUOIT  PLAYERS. 

HAT  unco  chances  whiles  will  fa' 

To  ony  human  creature; 
How,  kick'd  about  like  fortune's  ba', 
We  prove  our  fickle  nature. 
While  ane  will  mourn  wi'  tearfu'  e'e 

Some  dule  right  unexpeckit, 
Anither  big  wi'  joy  we'll  see 
As  bright  as  ony  cricket. 

Ae  time  I  mind,  when  joyfu'  June 

Had  brought  the  wand'ring  swallows, 
An'  sweet  ilk  feather'd  sangster's  tune 

Rang  through  the  leafy  hallows; 
An'  Nature  wore  her  richest  grace, 

For  flow'rs  and  blossoms  mony 
Were  scatter' d  owre  earth's  smiling  face, 

An'  a'  was  blithe  an'  bonnie. 

An'  thrangin  frae  the  neib'rin  toun 

Cam'  mony  a  cheery  carl, 
As  crouse  as  claimants  for  a  crown 

They  look'd  for  a'  the  warP. 
There  mony  a  weel-skill'd  curling  skip 

Cam'  wi'  his  quoits  provided; 
For  there,  that  day,  the  championship 

Was  gaun  to  be  decided. 
123 


124  THE   QUOIT   PLAYERS. 

An'  motts  were  placed,  an'  pair  an'  pair 

They  stript  them  for  the  battle, 
An'  sune  the  quoits  glanc'd  through  the  air, 

An'  rang  the  tither  rattle. 
An'  sudden  shouts  and  loud  guffaws 

Cam'  thick  an'  thrang  thegither, 
Confused  as  ony  flock  o'  craws 

Foreboding  windy  weather. 

An'  some  keep  pitching  lang  an'  dour, 

Weel-match'd  an'  teuch  's  the  widdie; 
While  ithers  canna  stand  the  stour, 

But  knuckle  doun  fu'  ready. 
An'  till  't  again  the  victor's  fa' 

Wi'  keener,  prouder  pleasure; 
While  rowth  o'  joy  swells  ane  an'  a* 

Wi'  overflowing  measure. 

O  manly  sport  in  open  field, 

Life-kindling  recreation ! 
Compared  wi'  thee  what  else  can  yield 

Sic  glowing  animation? 
Gin  feckless  fules  wha  idly  thrang 

To  city  balls  an'  theatres, 
Wad  tak'  to  thee  they'd  grow  sae  strang, 

They'd  look  like  ither  creatures. 

But  see — they've  feckly  dune  their  best, 

An'  mony  a  pech  it  's  ta'en  them, 
Till  twa  are  left  to  stand  the  test, 

An'  fecht  it  out  atween  them ; — 
Twa  rare  auld  chaps  o'  muckle  fame, 

I  wat  they're   baith  fu'  handy; 
Ane  muckle  Willie  was  by  name, 

The  tither  siccar  Sandie. 


THE   QUOIT  PLAYERS.  125 

Now  Sandie  had  an  unco  kind 

O'  silent  meditation, — 
A  gath'ring  in  o'  heart  an'  mind, — 

A  rapt  deliberation ; 
An'  nane  daur  draw  a  breath  while  he 

Stood  fierce  as  ony  Pagan, 
Till  whizz  his  weel-aim'd  quoit  wad  flee 

Like  ony  fiery  dragon ! 

But  Willie — open-hearted  chiel — 

He  never  liked  to  face  it, 
Till  some  tried  freend  wad  cheer  him  weel, 

An'  tell  him  whaur  to  place  it. 
An'  sic  a  job  was  just  the  thing 

That  quoiters  lik'd  to  cherish, 
An'  loud  they  gar'd  the  echoes  ring 

Throughout  the  neib'rin  parish. 

An'  sair  they  battled,  baith  as  brave 

As  game-cocks  fechtin'  frantic ; 
The  tae  shot  silent  as  the  grave, 

The  tither  wild  's  th'  Atlantic. 
An'  neck  an'  neck  they  ran  the  race, 

At  ithers'  heels  they  rattled, 
Until  they  reach 'd  that  kittle  place — 

The  shots  that  were  to  settle  't. 

An'  sae  it  was  when  Sandie  stood 

In  breathless  preparation, 
Some  senseless  gowk  in  frenzied  mood, 

Owrecome  wi'  agitation, 
Yell'd  out — "0  Sandie,  steady  now! 

Let's  see  you  play  a  ringer!" 
Distraction  rack'd  puir  Sandie's  pow, 

An'  skill  forsook  his  finger. 


126  THE   QUOIT   PLAYERS. 

Awa'  the  erring  quoit  gaed  skeugh 

Wi'  wildly  waublin  birl, 
An'  owre  a  bare  pow,  sure  aneuch, 

It  strak  wi'  fearfu'  dirl; 
A  puir  newspaper  chield  it  was, 

An'  aft  the  fowk  did  wyte  him 
For  pawning  that  sad  saul  o'  his 

In  scraping  up  an  "item." 

But  fegs,  to  gie  the  deil  his  due, 

For  facts  should  ne'er  be  slighted, 
At  antrin  times  by  chance  somehow 

He  gar'd  the  wrang  be  righted. 
An'  sae  when  that  erratic  quoit 

Maist  fell'd  him  wi'  a  tummle, 
Awa'  it  bounced  wi'  bev'llin'  skyte, 

An'  on  the  mott  played  whummle. 

Confusion  seized  baith  auld  an'  young, 

Nae  uproar  could  surmount  it; 
Some  vowed  the  quoit  was  fairly  flung, 

Some  said  they  couldna  count  it. 
The  referee  owned  up  at  last 

'Twas  past  his  comprehension; 
Quo'  he,  ' '  Sic  unco  kittle  cast 

Maun  bide  next  year's  convention.'* 

Then  Willie  aimed ;  while  some  ane,  seized 

Wi'  wildest  quoiting  clamor, 
Cries  "Willie,  raise  your  quoit,  man,  raise  't, 

An'  strike  this  like  a  hammer ! 
'Twill  ding  auld  Sandie's  i'  the  yird, 

Ne'er  let  mischance  defy  you; 
You'll  win  the  day,  yet,  tak'  my  word, 

Gude  luck  will  ne'er  gae  by  you." 


THE   QUOIT   PLAYERS.  127 

Encouraged,  Willie  wing'd  his  quoit 

Fair  as  a  rocket  spinning, 
While  ilka  ane  in  wild  delight 

Were  to  the  far  end  rinnin' ; 
When  some  rough  chield,  in  reckless  speed, 

Tramp'd  on  hisneibor's  corns; 
When  half  a  dozen  heels  owre  head 

Fell  like  a  pock  o'  horns. 

The  quoit  played  thud,  a  murd'rous  yell 

Proclaimed  a  new  disaster ; 
Some  cried  for  mercy  whaur  they  fell, 

Some  cried  for  dacklin'  plaister. 
Ane  vowed  the  quoit  had  broke  his  back, 

Twa  spak'  o'  waur  distresses; 
Anither  said  he  got  a  whack 

That  crack'd  a  pair  o'  glasses. 

Some  gabbled  loud,  some  laugh'd  like  mad : 

Nae  wild  discordant  rabble 
E'er  sic  supreme  dominion  had 

Sin'  at  the  Tower  o'  Babel. 
But  sweet  accord  cam'  in  at  last, 

An'  ilka  honest  billie 
Agreed  that  medals  should  be  cast 

For  Sandie  an'  for  Willie. 

Like  royal  heroes,   hame  they  cam* 

In  glorious  glee  thegither, 
An'  pledg'd  their  friendship  owre  a  dram 

O'  punch  wi'  ane  anither. 
But  nae  like  kings  wha  seldom  care 

For  chields  when  they've  mischieved  them, 
They  baith  watch'd  weel  the  sick  an'  sair, 

Till  healing  Time  relieved  them. 


THE  QUOIT  PLAYERS. 

Lang  may  they  thrive,  while  ilk  ane  wears 

His  honors  nobly  earn'd; 
Frae  persevering  pluck  like  theirs 

A  lesson  might  be  learn'd. 
May  quoiters'  joys  be  mair  an'  mair, 

Unvex'd  by  sorrow's  harrows : 
Sic  hearty  social  chaps,  I  swear, 

I've  never  met  their  marrows. 


THE  PIPER. 

HEN  clansmen  gather'd  to  the  games 

O'  Philadelphia,  man, 
What  roused  their  patriotic  flames 
Mair  bauld  than  e'er  ye  saw,  man? 
What  was  't  that  fired  their  heads  wi'  glee, 

An'  kept  their  hearts  in  true  tune? 
Nocht  but  the  matchless  melody 
O'  Angus  Rankin's  new  tune. 

O  how  he  made  the  welkin  ring 

Wi'  music's  sweetest  numbers, 
Till  rocks  an'  woods  an'  ilka  thing 

Seem'd  wauken'd  frae  their  slumbers. 
The  hurricane  o'  notes  ran  on 

Like  spates  o'  rowin'  rivers, 
Harmonious  to  the  ringing  drone 

An'  graced  wi'  semiquavers. 

Chief  Cochrane  gaz'd — that  modest  chield— 

In  silent  meditation, 
Till  like  a  hero  in  the  field 

He  caught  the  inspiration. 
He  flash' d  a  claymore  frae  its  sheath, 

Quo'  he:  "I'd  face  wi'  pleasure 
The  very  gaping  jaws  o'  death 

To  sic  a  rousing  measure." 
129 


130  THE   PIPER. 

Big  Bertram  then  cuist  aff  his  shoon 

An'  grippat  Johnnie  Shedden; 
Said  he:  "Maun,  that's  a  famous  tune, 

It  beats  the  'Tinkler's  WeddinV  " 
They  yokit  to  the  Hieland  Fling, 

Wi'  shanks  baith  swauk  an'  dweeble, 
An'  heating  to  the  wark — by  jing' — 

They  danc'd  a  double-treble! 

Then  Ross  an'  Gibb  an'  Robb  an'  Steele, 

Were  fidgin'  fain  to  see  them, — 
They  up  an'  danc'd  a  foursome  reel, 

An'  auld  an'  young  danc'd  wi'  them; 
Sic  wild  delight,  sic  gladsome  glee, 

Led  on  by  Rankin's  chanter, 
Ne'er  daz'd  the  glance  o'  mortal  e'e, 

Sin'  drucken  Tarn  o'  Shanter. 

The  games  gaed  on,  ilk  bauld  athlete 

Sune  felt  the  air  entrancing, 
Their  blood  boiled  up  wi'  fervent  heat, 

Their  nerves  in  frenzy  dancing, 
They  mark'd,  as  Angus  proudly  pass'd, 

His  martial  mien  and  figure; 
An'  gather 'd  frae  his  warlike  blast 

A  mair  than  mortal  vigor ! 

When  Johnston  jump'd  maist  five  feet-three, 

'Mid  bursts  o'  admiration; 
An'  clansmen  gied  him  three  times  three 

In  wild  congratulation, 
Quo'  he:  "I  feel  like  Mercury, 

Inspired  by  sweet  Apollo; 
My  feet  are  wing'd  wi'  melody 

Frae  Rankin's  bagpipe  solo!" 


THE  PIPER.  131 

When,  like  a  rocket  through  the  air, 

Ross  sent  the  hammer  spinnin', 
An'  fowk  dumfounder'd  here  an'  there 

To  clear  the  gate  were  rinnin' ; 
Sae  clean  had  Angus  turn'd  his  croon 

Wi'  music's  magic  glamour, 
He  near-hand  kill'd  a  nigger  loun, 

Sae  rash  he  threw  the  hammer. 

When  Robertson  cam  to  the  scratch, 

An'  vow'd  he'd  vault  wi'  ony, 
He  thocht  na  he  would  meet  his  match 

In  Irish  Jack  Maloney, 
Will  kent  the  pipes  could  ne'er  inspire, 

An  Irishman  to  glory, 
But  fegs,  Jack's  mither's  great  grandsire 

Cuist  peats  in  Tobermory. 

Some  liked  the  games,  some  liked  the  beer, 

An'  a'  were  blithe  an'  happy ; 
They  spent  the  day  in  social  cheer, 

An'  endit  wi'  a  drappie. 
But  a'  agreed,  as  it  appears, 

The  day  had  pass'd  but  too  soon, 
An'  ne'er  had  music  charm'd  their  ears 

Like  Angus  Rankin's  new  tune. 

Then  fill  your  bags,  ye  pipers  a', 

An'  get  your  drones  in  true  tune, 
An'  try  your  chanters  wi'  a  blaw, 

O'  Angus  Rankin's  new  tune. 
This  fact  I'll  hold  it  ev'rywhere, 

An'  nocht  can  mak'  me  bow  down, 
No  martial  air  can  e'er  compare 

Wi'  Angus  Rankiu's  new  tune! 


THE  DANDY  DANCER. 

LITHE  Brooklyn  lads  on  Hallowe'en, 

They  cut  a  gallant  figure,  O ! 
But  feint  a  clansman  there  was  seen 
Like  worthy  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 
Martial  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 
Rousing  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 
Baith  big  an'  braw,  an'  blithe  an'  a* 
Is  swanky  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 

When  music  made  the  rafters  ring, 
An'  ilk  ane  danc'd  wi'  vigor,  0 ! 
Nane  yarkit  up  the  Hieland  fling 
Like  sou  pie  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 
Skipping  Tarn  MacGregor,  0! 
Shuffling  Tarn  MacGregor,  O! 
I'm  perfect  sure  nane  fill'd  the  floor 
Like  lang-legg'd  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 

Douce  Andrew  Lamb  he  stroked  his  beard, 

An'  glower'd  wi'  awesome  rigor,  O! 
"Preserve's!"  quo*  he,  "I'm  getting  fear'd 
At  muckle  Tarn  MacGregor,  0 ! 

Stand  back  frae  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 
Mak'  room  for  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 
Or  by  my  fegs  he'll  brak'  our  legs, 
Will  loupin'  Tarn  MacGregor,  O!" 
132 


THE  DANDY   DANCER.  133 

The  bonnie  lasses  glancin'  up 

Aft  wiss'd  that  they  were  bigger,  O ! 
For  weel  they  liked  the  manly  grip 
O'  gallant  Tarn  MacGregor,  O! 
Waltzing  Tarn  MacGregor,  O! 
Swinging  Tarn  MacGregor,  O! 
A  hand-breadth  guid  owre  a'  he  stood 
Did  lofty  Tarn  MacGregor,  O I 

Now  be  ye  rich  or  be  ye  puir, 

Or  be  ye  black  's  a  nigger,  O ! 
A  hearty  social  friend  I'm  sure 
Ye'll  find  in  Tarn  MacGregor,  O! 
Hurrah !  for  Tarn  MacGregor,  O ! 
Here's  to  ye,  Tarn  MacGregor,  O! 
The  social  man's  the  noble  man, 
An'  that's  leal  Tarn  MacGregor,  0! 


THE  CHIEFTAIN. 

HAE  ye  heard  the  joyfu'  news 

That  fill  our  hearts  wi'  muckle  glee? 
An'  waukens  up  my  hamely  muse 
To  sing  o'  ane  frae  owre  the  sea. 
I  wat  we've  miss'd  him  unco  sair 

Frae  'mang  the  social  chaps  we  ken; 
But  ane  an'  a'  rejoice  ance  mair 
Sin'  social  Geordie's  back  again. 

Social  Geordie's  back  again, 

Social  Geordie's  back  again, 

Gae  sound  the  news  wi'  micht  an*  main, 

Social  Geordie's  back  again. 

O  what  could  e'er  hae  gar't  him  gang 

Awa'  frae  'mang  the  chieftains  a'? 
When  kilted  clansmen  proudly  thrang 

In  open  field  or  gath'rin'  ha', 
He  aye  was  foremost  in  his  graith 

Amang  the  plaided  Highland  men; 
But  blithe  are  we  when,  free  frae  scaith, 

Our  noble  Chieftain's  back  again. 

O  could  ye  hear  his  wondrous  crack 
O'  broomy  knowes  an'  briery  dells, 

How  blithe  the  fancy  wanders  back 
Owre  mountains  red  wi'  heather  bells. 
134 


THE    CHIEFTAIN. 

The  scented  flowers,  the  melodie 
That  graces  ilka  Scottish  glen, 

Comes  brichter  on  the  memory's  e'e, 
Sin'  social  Geordie's  back  again. 


135 


THE  BLATE  WOOER. 

AB  MAcCRAW  began  to  woo 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
Mary  Ann  was  kind  an'  true, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
Rab  was  blate  an'  unco  shy, 
Glower'd  fu'  fain  an'  aft  would  sigh, 
Let  guid  chances  aft  gang  by, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 

Mary  Ann  would  smile  sae  sweet, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 

Rab  would  look  as  he  would  greet, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 

Mary  Ann  would  blithely  sing, 

Joke  to  Rab  like  onything, 

But  feint  the  smile  frae  Rab  could  bring, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o  t. 

He  that  runs  may  brawly  read, 
Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
Love  that's  dumb  will  ne'er  come  speed, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
" Shall  I  mind  a  coof  sae  blate," 
Quo'  she,  an'  changed  her  love  to  hate, 
Cuist  her  een  anither  gate, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
136 


THE   BLATE   WOOER.  137 

Up  there  spak'  a  brisker  man, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
"Will  ye  tak'  me,  Mary  Ann?" 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
Sune  they  spread  their  marriage  feast. 
Rab  dumfounder'd  at  sic  haste, 
Glower'd  as  if  he'd  seen  a  ghaist, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 

Now  the  moral's  plainly  set, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
Strike  the  iron  while  it's  het, 

fla,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 
Or  like  Rab  as  ye  hae  seen, 
Some  brisker  lad  may  come  between, 
An'  ye  may  lie  and  gaunt  your  lane, 

Ha,  ha,  the  wooing  o't. 


THE  SUFFEEING  CITIZEN. 

AN   ELEVATED   KHYME. 
Cfci 

was  a  suffering  citizen 

Whose  life  was  full  of  jars, 
Until  he  came  to  dwell  beside 
The  Elevated  cars. 

For  night  and  day  his  shrewish  wife 

Would  rail  in  brazen  tone, 
Until  this  very  wretched  man 

Was  very  woe-begone. 

But  when  the  rattling  engines  pass'd, 

And  thundering  echoes  rung, 
This  tiresome  lady  was  at  last 

Compelled  to  hold  her  tongue. 

Or  if  her  burning  bursts  of  speech 

Prolonged  their  ceaseless  blast, 
He  could  not  hear  a  single  word 

Until  the  cars  had  pass'd. 

And  when  her  fractured  parts  of  speech 

Began  again  to  stir, 
The  steam  would  hiss,  the  brakes  would  screech, 

And  put  a  stop  to  her. 
138 


THE   SUFFERING  CITIZEN.  139 

Till  now  there's  not  a  meeker  dame 

In  Gotham's  busy  town, 
With  all  her  eloquential  fires 

Completely  broken  down. 

While  he,  in  transports  of  delight, 

A  rush  of  gladness  feels, 
Since  all  his  woes  are  crush'd  beneath 

The  clash  of  iron  wheels. 

And  though  at  first  this  jostling  pair, 

The  railroad  did  condemn, 
Its  jarring  tumult  has  become 

A  source  of  peace  to  them. 

And  also  proves  the  moral  truth, 

That  he  was  wondrous  wise 
Who  said  that  troubles  often  are 

But  blessings  in  disguise. 


THE  MATCH-MAKING  LUCKIE. 

ii 

KENT  a  Scotch  wife  fat  an'  crouse 

As  ony  weel-fed  chuckie; 
An'  social  mirth  aft  graced  the  house 
O' that  auld,  canty  Luckie; 
An'  foul  or  fair,  or  late  or  air, 

In  spite  o'  wind  and  weather, 
This  Luckie  still  worked  wi'  a  will 
To  bring  young  fowk  thegither. 

An'  whiles  't  was  parties  at  her  house, 

An'  whiles  't  was  singing  classes; 
An'  whiles  't  was  dancings  blithe  an'  crouse 

Amang  the  lads  an'  lasses. 
The  blatest  pair  that  entered  there 

They  never  could  dishearten  her; 
The  blate  and  cauld  grew  blithe  and  bauld, 

An'  learned  to  kiss  their  partner. 

When  first  we  met,  "My  lad,"  quo'  she, 

"We've  lasses  braw  an'  plenty; 
Tak'  tent  an'  lea  yersel'  wi'  me, 

I'm  sure  you're  twa-an' -twenty; 
An'  time  it  is  ye  kenn'd  what  't  was 

To  taste  conjugal  blisses — 
To  hae  a  wife  to  cheer  your  life 

Wi'  rowth  o'  sappy  kisses.' 
140 


THE   MATCH-MAKING   LUCKIE.  141 

Quo'  I,  "Auld  Luckie,  bide  at  hame, 

An'  mind  your  man  an'  bairns ; 
Gude  faith,  they  say,  ye  might  think  shame 

O'  some  o'  your  concerns. 
There's  bonnie  Sam,  an'  dancing  Tarn, 

Ye  pledg'd  them  clever  kimmers — 
They  see  owre  late  their  waefu'  fate, 

They've  baith  got  lazy  limmers." 

She  stamp' d,  she  raised  her  open  loof, 

She  vow'd  by  a'  that's  holy, 
Her  happy  matches  aye  were  proof 

'Gainst  care  an'  melancholy. 
"There's  some,"  quo'  she,  "that's  come  to  me 

As  thrawn  as  cankert  littlins, 
Now  ye  can  kythe  them  sweet  an'  blithe 

As  ony  pair  o'  kittlins." 

She  held  her  faith,  she  preach 'd  her  creed 

Wi'  apostolic  ardor, 
An'  aye  the  mair  that  she  cam'  speed 

She  played  her  cards  the  harder. 
Some  scoffers  thought  that  she  was  nought 

But  some  auld  devil's  buckie; 
But  priests  in  black  fu'  sweetly  spak 

That  grand  match-making  Luckie. 

At  last,  O  sirs,  she  chang'd  her  craw, 

That  aft  had  welcom'd  mony; 
An'  now  't  was,  "Lasses,  bide  awa' 

Frae  my  ain  laddie,  Johnnie; 
Nor  glow'r  an'  gape,  nor  set  your  cap 

For  my  wee  bonnie  Tammie; 
The  blind  might  see,  as  lang's  they've  me, 

They'll  aye  bide  wi'  their  mammie," 


142  THE   MATCH-MAKING   LUCKIE. 

But  Jock  and  Tarn,  as  quick  's  a  shot, 

They  settled  up  the  matter; 
They  married,  an'  sic  jades  they  got — 

The  least  that's  said  the  better. 
Puir  Luckie  swat,  puir  Luckie  grat, 

An'  pale  she  grew,  an'  thinner; 
An'  lang  she  blabb'd,  an'  aft  she  sabb'd, 

Like  ony  startled  sinner. 

Now  friends  tak'  tent  an'  keep  aloof 

Frae  a'  sic  intermeddling, 
Nae  gude  can  come  aneath  ane's  roof 

Wi'  dancing  and  wi'  fiddling. 
An'  smacks  galore  ahint  the  door, 

Whatever  be  their  nature, 
May  turn  as  dowff  as  Luckie's  howff, 

That  auld  match-making  creature. 

An'  ye  whase  rosy  hopes  are  lit 

By  youth's  fires  blithe  an'  bonnie, 
O  walk  ye  aye  wi'  tentie  fit — 

Life's  dubs  are  deep  an'  mony. 
Your  sweet  desires,  true  love's  fond  fires 

Keep  close  as  ony  buckie; 
An'  aye  bide  back,  nor  counsel  tak' 

Frae  nae  match-making  Luckie. 


THE  CAVALIER. 

Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'erleaps  itself, 
And  falls  on  the  other  side." 

— Shakespeare. 

JHERE  was  a  gallant  prick-the-louse, 

Fu'  fond  o'  martial  glory, 
Wha  liked  na  sitting  i'  the  house 
To  hear  an  auld  wife's  story; 
But  let  him  out  in  gaudy  graith, 

Then  firm  as  famed  Achates, 
He'd  think  within  himsel' — guid  faith, 
He  was  nae  sma'  potatoes. 

An'  when  processions  deav'd  the  place, 

Wi'  fifing  an'  wi'  drumming, 
Amang  the  foremost  ye  might  trace 

That  martial  tailor  coming. 
For  wark  he  aye  had  some  excuse 

An'  put  fowk  in  a  swither, 
He  might  as  weel  hae  left  his  goose 

An'  lapbrod  a'  thegither. 

But  whiles  when  things  come  till  a  height, 

An'  a'  's  as  gleg's  a  wumble, 
Conceit  will  get  an  unco  dicht 

An'  pride  will  tak  a  tumble; 
An'  sighs  an'  sabs  will  wring  the  face, 

An'  conscience  turn  reviler ; 
An'  waes  me !  here's  an  unco  case — 

This  military  tailor. 
143 


144  THE  CAVALIER. 

Some  grand  turn  out  there  was  to  be, 

Nae  ane  had  e'er  seen  larger ; 
An'  nought  could  please  that  tailor's  e'e 

But  mount  him  on  a  charger ; 
Though  weel  I  wat,  wi'  due  regard 

To  sic  a  feckless  bodie, 
He  would  hae  been  far  better  sair'd 

Upon  a  cadger's  cuddie. 

But  fegs !  when  mounted  firm  an'  fair, 

Sic  unco  lift  it  lent  him 
That  had  his  grannie  seen  him  there, 

Poor  soul !  she  wadna  kent  him — 
Wi'  hat  deck'd  up  wi'  gamecock's  tail 

That  in  the  breeze  was  dancing, 
An'  sword  that  swung  like  ony  flail 

An'  spangled  bauldric  glancing. 

O  had  the  tailor's  foot  been  set 

Upon  a  nest  o'  vipers, 
'Twere  better  fate  than  when  he  met 

That  squad  o'  Highland  pipers, 
Whase  drones  blew  out  a  fearfu'  blast 

An'  scream' d  ilk  piercing  chanter, 
Juist  as  the  tailor  bobbit  past, 

Fu'  gracefu'  at  a  canter. 

Awa*  the  horse  sprang  wild  wi'  fright 

Like  some  mad  spectral  vision ; 
An  apple  cart  first  felt  his  might — 

It  was  a  sad  collision. 
Whate'er  stood  in  his  furious  track 

Was  knock' d  amaist  to  flinders, 
The  air  was  black  wi'  stour  an'  wrack, 

O'  barrels  fill'd  wi'  cinders. 


THE  CAVALIER.  145 

The  tailor  prayed,  the  tailor  yell'd, 

In  dreadf  u'  consternation ; 
But  onward  aye  the  charger  held 

In  awesome  desperation. 
The  fowk  ran  here,  the  fowk  ran  there, 

Wi'  fear  ilk  lip  did  quiver, 
"Preserve  us!"  raise  in  wild  despair, 

"He's  making  for  the  river!" 

An'  sae  it  was  in  wild  career, 

An'  galloping  an'  prancing, 
The  puir  demented  cavalier 

Beheld  his  end  advancing; 
But  when  they  reach'd  the  auld  dry  dock 

FilPd  fu'  wi'  mony  a  sclutter, 
The  horse  stood  still  wi'  sudden  shock, 

An'  dump'd  him  i'  the  gutter! 

There  let  him  rest  his  weary  banes, 

In  waefu'-like  dejection, 
While  through  his  mony  sighs  an'  granes, 

Fowk  hear  this  wise  reflection : 
"Oh,  sirs!  on  foot  I'll  gang  my  road, 

Till  life's  last  thread  be  clippit, 
An'  sit  me  doucely  on  my  brod, 

Though  I  grow  horny-hippit." 

An'  you,  ye  pipers,  ane  an'  a', 

O  pause  an'  weel  consider, 
An'  mak'  your  pipes  fu'  laigh  to  blaw, 

Or  stop  them  a'  thegither ; 
Ilk  fearsome  groan  f rae  ilk  a  drone, 

There's  nought  on  earth  that  's  viler; 
Then  see  the  dool  ye've  brought  upon 

That  military  tailor. 


THE  MINISTER-DAFT. 

WABSTER,  o'  Girvan,  cam'  owre  here 

to  bide, 

But  he  cared  na  for  ferlies  a  flee; 
But  to  hear  a'  the  preachers — O  that  was  his  pride, 

For  an  unco  douce  body  was  he. 
A  pillar  in  Zion  he'd  been  frae  his  youth, 

An'  deep  draughts  o'  doctrine  he'd  quaffed; 
An'  sae  schuled   he'd  aye  been  in  the  real  gospel 

truth, 
Ye'd  ne'er  thought  he'd  gae  minister-daft. 

When  to  Gotham  he  cam',  preserve's  what  a  steer! 

Ilk  Sabbath,  at  break  o'  the  dawn, 
He  up  an'  awa'  a  new  preacher  to  hear, 

Whaur  gowpens  o'  logic  were  sawn. 
Three  times  i'  the  day,  and  aftentimes  four, 

He  listen' d  to  clerical  craft, 
Till  at  last  his  een  had  sic  an  unco  like  glow'r, 

You  could  see  he  was  minister-daft. 

To  Beecher  he  gaed,  wha  vowed  that  the  de'il, 

Was  nought  but  some  auld-warld  blether ! 
To  Talmage  he  tramp' d,  wha  proved  juist  as  weel 

Fowk  were  a'gaun  to  Satan  thegither! 
Then  Ormiston  showed  how  the  foreordained  few 

Were  the  only  true  heavenly  graft. 
Jock  couldna'  see  how  a'  their  theories  were  true, 

Although  he  was  minister-daft. 
146 


THE   MINISTER-DAFT.  147 

Then  Froth ingham  showed  him — that  lang-headed 
chap — 

How  fowk  were  maist  gomerals  a' ; 
How  priests  an'  how  clergy  juist  baited  a  trap 

To  lead  puir  silly  bodies  awa' ; 
How  creeds  an'  how  kirks  an'  a'  siccan  gear 

Were  as  frail  as  an  auld  rotten  raft. 
Some  fowk  may  dispute  it,  but  ae  thing  was  clear, 

Jock  Wabster  was  minister-daft! 

Still  he  tramp'd    an'  he  trudg'd,  an'  hearken'd  an' 
stared, 

Till  at  last,  on  a  day  it  befell, 
He  heard  a  Scotch  ranter,  wha  baudly  declared 

He  had  Heaven  juist  a'  to  himseP  ! 
Whaur  he  an'  his  half-dizzen  bodies  would  bide 

In  spite  o'  the  devil's  wrang  waft, 
While  the  brunstane  consumed  a'  the  earth  in  its 
pride, 

No  forgetting  the  minister-daft. 

How  he  stampit  and  reeng'damang lions  an'  lambs! 

An'  beasts  wi'  big  horns  an'  a' ! 
An'  he-goats,  an'  dragons,  an'  deevils,  an'  rams, 

An'  cantrips  cuist  up  in  a  raw ! 
But  the  upshot  was  this,  that  Jock  he  thought  shame ; 

Now  doucely  he  plies  his  ain  craft, 
An'  on  Sabbaths  he  reads  owre  the  gude  book  at 
hame; 

So  he's  nae  langer  minister-daft. 


THE  SPIRITUALIST. 

Glendower  —  I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep. 
Hotspur  —  Why,  so  can  I,  or  so  can  any  man  ; 

But  will  they  come  when  you  do  call  for  them? 

—  Shakespeare. 


ANGSYNE,  when  Tarn  an'  me  were  mates, 

An'  wrought  an'  swat  thegither, 
O,  mony  kittle,  keen  debates 
We  had  wi'  ane  anither. 
An*  aye  Tarn  took  a  stalwart  stand 

On  mystic  speculation, 
An'  dwelt  upo'  the  spirit  land 
Wi'  muckle  meditation. 

'Twas  strange  to  hear  him  spread  his  views 

In  unsubstantial  theories  ; 
How  spirits  hover'd  round  like  doos, 

Or  danc'd  about  like  peeries. 
How  whiles,  beyond  frail  man's  control, 

They  dwelt  like  bumbees  by  kit; 
Or  whiles  they  wing'd  frae  pole  to  pole, 

Like  thought  —  as  fast's  ye  like  't. 

I  bade  him  doubt  sic  unco  things, 

Till  he  some  proof  could  render  ; 
He  bade  me  tak'  the  Book  o'  Kings, 

An'  read  the  Witch  o'  Endor. 
348 


THE  SPIRITUALIST.  149 

"An*  doubt  ae  word  o'  God,"  quo'  he, 

"As  weel  doubt  a'  the  rest  o't." 
An'  facts  are  facts — 'tween  you  an*  me, 

Tarn  rather  had  the  best  o't. 


Till  ae  daft  nicht  when  Tarn  an'  me 

Sat  cheek  an'  jowl  thegither, 
An'  something  he  would  let  me  see 

Would  clear  up  ilka  swither. 
Quo'  he — "Juist  speer  if  ghaists  be  here, 

Though  nae  man's  e'e  can  see  them; 
I  vow  to  fate  I've  learned  the  gate. 

To  haud  a  parley  wi'  them." 

"Ah,  Tarn,"  quo  I,  "I've  mourned  the  loss 

O'  freends  baith  guid  an'  mony; 
Some  worn  wi'  age  an'  warldly  cross, 

Some  young,  an'  blithe,  an'  bonnie. 
But  nane  e'er  bravelier  took  my  part, 

Nae  freendship  blossom'd  riper; 
Nane  had  a  warmer,  kindlier  heart 

Than  Donald  Roy,  the  piper. 

"O,  aft  when  weary  wark  was  dune 

Amang  the  woods  a-roaming, 
Fu'  mony  a  sweet  an'  blithesome  tune 

Waked  echoes  i'  the  gloaming. 
An'  rapt  was  ilka  list' n ing  ear, 

While  Donald  piped  his  numbers; 
Now  green's  the  sod  that  haps  his  bier 

Sin'  cauld  in  death  he  slumbers. 


150  THE  SPIRITUALIST. 

"But  ere  he  dee'd  he  left  to  me 

A  tune  that  ne'er  was  printed ; 
It  struck  a  wild,  heroic  key, 

But,  like  a  gowk,  I  tint  it. 
O,  will  ye  speer  if  he  be  here — 

I'll  never  dare  to  doubt  it — 
If  ye' 11  wreat  doun  that  martial  tune 

Or  tell  me  where  I  put  it." 

Tarn  tried  to  look  like  some  auld  seer, 

As  weel  as  he  was  able, 
An'  mummlet  something  laigh  an'  queer, 

Then  grippit  at  the  table. 
An',  O  preserve  's !     I'm  juist  as  sure 

As  that  my  heart  gaed  thumpin', 
It  raised  its  hint  legs  aff  the  floor, 

An'  syne  began  a-jumpin' ! 

Sometimes  it  quiver'd  i'  the  air, 

Wi'  mony  an  eerie  wobble, 
Sometimes  it  shoggled  here  an'  there 

Like  ony  saumont  cobble ! 
An'  aye  Tarn  spelt  his  A,  B,  C's, 

An'  marked  them  doun  in  batches; 
An'  spun  a  screed  out  by  degrees, 

Like  telegraph  dispatches. 

"He's  here,"  quo'  Tarn,  "but  deil  tak'  me 

If  I  can  weel  command  him : 
He  spells  sae  unco  queer,  ye  see, 

I  dinna  understand  him. 
His  words  are  like  some  droll  hotch-potch 

O'  Hebrew  or  Italic; 
An'  are  ye  sure  he  crackit  Scotch, 

Or  did  he  jabber  Gaelic?" 


THE   SPIRITUALIST.  151 

"O  wheesht!"  quo'  I;  "gin  he  be  here 

I'll  speak  an  invocation : 
O,  Donald,  if  this  earthly  sphere 

Is  now  thy  habitation, 
O  dinna  wing  your  airy  flight 

Back  through  the  blissful  portals 
Before  you  throw  some  glint  o'  light 

On  poor  unhappy  mortals. 

"O  gin  thy  voice,  that  aye  was  sweet 

An'  gentle  as  a  woman's 
Could  some  celestial  news  repeat, 

I'd  hail  the  heavenly  summons; 
Or  gin  thy  pipes  are  still  in  tune, 

An'  still  thy  pride  an'  pleasure, 
O  bring  the  echoes  frae  aboon 

In  some  seraphic  measure!" 

Like  thunder-claps  whase  sudden  shock 

Aft  rattles  a'  the  dwallin', 
Wild,  weird,  unearthly  shrieks  out-broke 

Aneath  the  very  hallan ! 
Wi'  piercing  screams  an'  awesome  groans 

The  very  air  wa'  bizzin' ; 
It  sounded  like  a  hundred  drones, 

An'  chanters  by  the  dizzen ! 

Tarn's  hair  stood  up,  an'  strange  to  see, 

Ilk  e'e  sprang  frae  its  socket; 
He  glower' d  an  awesome  glower  at  me, 

Then  darted  like  a  rocket. 
Then  three  times  round  the  room  he  ran, 

The  chairs  an'  stools  a'  coupin ; 
Then  for  the  window  sprang,  puir  man, 

As  if  he  thought  o'  loupin'. 


152  THE   SPIRITUALIST. 

I  tauld  puir  Tarn  the  hale  affair 

How  it  was  a'  pretenses ; 
How  twa  'r  three  pipers  hearkened  there, 

To  bring  him  to  his  senses. 
An'  lang  they  blethered  owre  a  dram, 

An'  cheered  Tarn  up  wi'  toddy ; 
But  fowk  remarked  frae  that  day  Tarn 

Was  quite  an  altered  bodie. 

Nae  mair  his  mind  is  in  the  mirk, 

Wi'  ghaists  he  doesna  daidle; 
He's  grown  a  deacon  o'  the  kirk, 

An'  passes  round  the  ladle. 
An'  though  some  think  that  Calvin's  creed 

Is  cauld  an'  warsh  as  drammock, 
Tarn  kens  it  clears  his  gloomy  head, 

An'  suits  his  thrawart  stammack. 

O  ye  wha  your  ain  gates  would  gang 

On  this  truth  keep  reflectin' — 
The  wayward  will  aye  wanders  wrang, 

Dool  comes  ye're  no  expectin'. 
O,  keep  the  faith  that  mony  a  Scot 

Won  noble  martyr's  wreath  in; 
The  covenanted  kirk  ye've  got 

Aye  place  your  'biding  faith  in. 


THE   FEAST  OF  MACTAVISH. 

MERRY  were  the  feasts  at  hame, 

Unmixed  wi'  care  or  dool, 
Lany  syne  in  Angus  braes  when  we 
Were  laddies  at  the  schule; 
An'  aye  the  blithest  o'  them  a' — 
The  merry  feast  at  Yule. 

But  mony  years  hae  pass'd  sin*  syne, 

And  unco  feasts  I've  seen: 
I've  dined  where  gowden  chandeliers 

Hae  dazzled  baith  my  een ; 
An'  supp'd  beneath  the  moon  an'  stars 

Far  in  the  forest  green. 

But  a'  the  feasts  that  e'er  I  had, 

At  hame  or  far  awa', 
Or  ever  thought  or  dream'd  about 

Or  heard  about  or  saw, 
That  unco  feast  MacTavish  made 

I  think  it  crown'd  them  a'. 

Lang  had  MacTavish  wrought  and  tramp'd 

Owre  mony  a  drumlie  dub, 
To  start  in  some  wee  Western  toun 

A  Caledonian  Club, 
An'  gather  clansmen  round  himsel', 

Like  spokes  around  a  hub. 
153 


154  THE   FEAST   OF    MACTAVISH. 

He  shed  incessant  owre  them  a' 

The  light  o'  wit  an'  sense, 
An'  fann'd  their  patriotic  fires 

Without  a  recompense, 
Except  the  loud  applause  that  hailed 

His  bursts  o'  eloquence. 

An'  aye  his  head  was  pang'd  sae  fu' 

O'  logic  and  o'  lear, 
His  brither  Scots  look'd  up  to  him 

Wi'  pride  an'  holy  fear; 
An'  aye  the  word  was  when  they  met— 

"MacTavish,  tak'  the  chair." 

At  last  MacTavish  spread  a  feast 

O'  dainties  rich  an'  rare; 
An'  a'  the  big  fowk  o'  the  toun — 

The  Shirra  an'  the  mayor, 
A  Judge,  sax  Councilmen,  forbye 

Twa  editors — were  there. 

The  ha'  was  deck'd  in  rainbow  hues, 

The  pipes  began  to  play; 
An'  mony  a  kilted  Scot  was  there 

In  tartan's  grand  array; — 
An'  proud  they  were,  for  ye  maun  ken 

It  was  the  Auld  Yule  Day. 

The  grace  was  said,  the  feast  began 

Wi'  kail  baith  het  an'  thin, 
An'  scowder'd  bannocks,  birselt  brown, 

An'  tatties  i'  the  skin. 
"Clean  out  your  plates,"  MacTavish  cried, 

"An'  bring  the  haggis  in." 


THE   FEAST  OF   MACTAVISH.  155 

Wild  clamor  made  the  welkin  ring; 

The  bodies  seem'd  as  glad 
As  if  the  promised  dish  had  been 

The  only  bite  they  had ; 
Like  shipwreck'd  waifs  that  hail  a  sail, 

They  cheer'd  an'  cheer'd  like  mad ! 

I  wat  it  was  an  awesome  sight, 

Grim,  grewsome-like,  an'  black: 
The  skin  hung  flypin'  doun  the  sides 

In  wrinkles  lang  an'  slack, 
Like  Jumbo  hurklin'  doun  to  get 

The  bairnies  on  his  back. 

O,  then  MacTavish  smack'd  his  lips, 

An'  glower'd  wi'  hungry  e'e! 
"First  pass  the  glorious  dish  amang 

Th'  invited  guests,"  said  he; 
"Be  thankfu',  freends,  there  is  aneuch 

For  them  an'  you  an'  me. 

"Gie  double  thanks,  for  there's  a  dish 

Might  mak  a  sick  man  weel; 
Whaever  eats  his  fill  o'  that 

Might  dance  a  foursome  reel ; 
O  grand  it  is  when  ilka  sup 

Melts  in  your  mou'  like  jeel!" 

They  mump'd  like  rabbits  at  the  stuff, 

Their  chafts  gied  mony  a  twine ; 
The  Mayor  wash'd  twa  'r  three  spoonfu's  doun 

Wi'  waughts  o'  Adam's  wine; 
The  editors  for  ance  agreed, 

An'  said  they  liked  it  fine. 


156  THE   FEAST   OF   MACTAVISH. 

"An'  fine  it  is,"  MacTavish  cried, 
Wi'  muckle  mirth  an'  glee ; — 

"That's  just  the  kind  o'  halesome  food 
My  mither  made  to  me 

Langsyne,  when  I  was  herding  kye 
Beside  the  water  Dee. 

"O  if  we  had  this  ilka  day 
We'd  stand  as  stieve's  a  dyke ! 

The  waefu'  weight  o'  weary  wark 
Would  be  buf  little  fyke; 

An'  mony  a  creature  wadna  be 
Sae  lantern-chafted  like. 

"Frae  this  day,  henceforth,  and  for  aye- 
Bear  witness  while  I  speak — 

I'll  eat  nae  skelps  o'  Texan  steers 
That's  frizzled  i'  the  reek; 

I'll  hae  a  haggis  just  like  this 
Made  ready  ilka  week." 

An'  down  upon  his  chair  at  last 

The  bauld  MacTavish  sat, 
An'  took  a  spoonf u'  o'  the  dish ; 

Then,  like  a  cankert  cat, 
His  whiskers  bristled  i'  the  air, 

He  glower'd,  and  fuff'd,  and  spat! 

"Preserve  *s!"  MacTavish  wildly  cried, 

"Whaur  is  that  dosent  doilt, 
Whase  idiotic  want  o'  sense 

Our  glorious  feast  has  spoilt? 
He's  warm'd  the  haggis  by  mistak',— 

The  ane  that  wasna  boilt! 


THE  FEAST   OF   MACTAVISH.  157 

"0  mony  a  haggis  I  hae  seen, 

Baith  muckle  anes  an'  sma', 
Some  saft  as  cruds,  some  hard  as  brods 

Cut  by  a  circ'lar  saw; 
But  never  dream'd  I'd  live  to  see 

Fowk  eat  a  haggis  raw ! 

"But,  freends,  though  unco  sair  it  is 

To  bear  this  sad  mistake, 
A  gleam  o'  glory  gilds  us  yet, 

An'  fient  the  dool  we'll  make: 
Wha  wadna  suffer  pains  and  pangs 

For  dear  auld  Scotland's  sake?" 

Some  cheer'd  an'  lauch'd,  some  growl'd  an'  glunch'd, 

Some  said  'twas  nae  that  ill ; 
Some  proved  how  hard  it  is  to  be 

Convinced  against  your  will ; 
But  a'  agreed  to  droun  their  waes 

In  stoups  o'  barmy  yill. 

An'  ye  whae'er  shall  hear  o'  this, 

O  pass  na  lightly  by, 
But  learn  to  bide  an'  haud  your  weesht, 

An'  mind  an'  watch  your  eye, 
An'  no  be  roosing  unco  things 

Before  ye  taste  an'  try. 

An'  you  wha  fain  wad  be  genteel, 

O  mak'  this  maxim  plain — 
It's  wiser  whiles  to  mak'  an'  speak 

Opinions  o'  your  ain, 
Than  blindly  tak'  the  bauldest  thought 

0'  ony  mortal  brain. 


THE  WESTERN  WAIF. 


cour*  Wher9  the  prisoners  sit, 
And  his  face  was  haggard  and  grim  ; 
And  a  hundred  curious,  eager  eyes 
Look'd  stern  and  glared  at  him; 
Nor  friend  had  he  in  that  motley  throng 
Save  his  sad-eyed  brother  Jim. 

And  ever  as  link  by  link  they  brought 

The  story  from  near  and  far, 
And  ever  as  darker  the  picture  grew 

With  the  shadow  of  bolt  arid  bar, 
He  look'd  for  Jim  as  the  mariner  looks 

For  the  light  of  the  polar  star. 

At  last  when  the  Judge  had  turn'd  to  the  waif 

And  ask'd  if  he'd  aught  to  say, 
He  rose  to  his  feet,  nor  ever  a  trace 

Of  fear  did  his  face  betray  ; 
But  he  look'd  at  the  Judge  and  he  look'd  at  the  throng 

In  a  manly  kind  of  a  way. 

"I  won't  go  back  on  the  things  I've  done 

Or  the  way  that  they  might  be  put; 
I  won't  say  many  are  worse'n  me, 

Or  some  o'  you  folks  might  scoot; 
I  won't  squeal  now  that  you've  got  me  fast,  — 

I  ain't  that  kind  o'  galoot. 
158 


THE  WESTERN   WAIF.  159 

"But  s'pos'n'  I'd  bin  of  a  different  stamp — 

A  tip-top  kind  of  a  lad, 
That  work'd  like  a  nigger  from  morning  to  night, 

And  never  once  went  to  the  bad, 
But  come  to  the  scratch  like  a  man  ev'ry  time — 

I  wonder  what  thanks  I'd  have  had? 

"There's  Jim — look  at  Jim! — he's  done  the  square 
thing, 

No  man  can  say  nothing  to  him  : 
He's  just  made  up  o'  the  whitest  o'  stuff, 

An'  filled  choke  up  to  the  brim ; 
You  may  talk  an  talk  till  the  Fourth  o'  July, 

But  there  isn't  a  spot  upon  Jim. 

•'When  the  Rebs  crawled  out  from  the  old  striped 
flag, 

Jim  shouldered  his  gun — you  bet  !— 
He  didn't  hang  back  like  them  big  bounty  chaps, 

That  stay  for  all  they  could  get: — 
Why,  Judge — if  them  Rebs  a-hadn't  caved  in 

Our  Jim  would  been  fightin'  'em  yet ! 

"For  down  at  the  battle  o'  Shiloh,  Judge, 

When  Jim  was  a- waving  his  fist, 
A  grape  shot  came  with  a  whizz  an'  a  bang! 

An'  took  it  clean  off  by  the  wrist : 
Jim  only  smiled  in  his  ord'nar'  way, 

And  said  it  would  hardly  be  miss'd. 

"And  the  blacksmith  made  him  an  iron  hook, 

And  Jim  kept  his  place  in  the  line, 
And  there  wasn't  a  man  in  the  old  Ninth  corps 

Could  drop  you  a  Reb  as  fine; 
For  Jim,  you  see,  had  an  iron  nerve,— 

They  warn't  all  shook  like  mine. 


160  THE  WESTERN  WAIF. 

"  When  Jim  came  back — did  they  give  him  a  place — 

A  good,  fat  office,  or  such? 
No! — Jim  ain't  the  kind  that  goes  snookin'  around 

To  see  where  he'll  pick  up  a  crutch; 
And  there's  nobody  looks  for  the  likes  o'  Jim 

To  give  him  a  lift — not  much ! 

"But  Jim  don't  ask  no  odds  off  a  man 

Although  he's  short  on  a  limb, 
And  maybe  Jim  ain't  a-caring  to  hear 

That  I'm  speakin'  this  way  about  him; 
Say,  Judge  you  orter  let  up  on  a  man 

That's  gotten  a  brother  like  Jim! 

"And  s'pos'n'  I've  done  what  I  ortent  a  done, 
And  the  State's  got  the  bulge  upon  me : 

The  State  hasn't  done  what  it  orter  a  done 
To  a  good  un  like  Jim,  d'ye  see; — 

Say,  Judge—God  pardons  the  sinner  because 
Christ  died  upon  Calvary!" 

Then  an  angel  of  mercy  seem'd  somehow 

To  dwell  in  each  pitying  look, 
And  the  Judge  called  out  to  the  throng  for  Jim 

To  come  from  his  distant  nook ; 
And  there  wasn't  a  man  in  the  crowd  but  came 

And  wrung  Jim  by  his  iron  hook ! 

And  they  aren't  straitlaced  in  those  Western  courts, 

And  nobody  cared  to  know 
If  the  law  said  this  or  the  law  said  that, 

But  they  cried  to  give  him  a  show; 
And  so  for  the  worth  of  the  noble  Jim 

They  let  the  wild  waif  go. 


THE  POACHER. 

'HO  is  he  that  comes  sedately, 

Bearded,  muffled,  dark  and  stately, 
With  a  rapid  stride  advancing 
And  his  keen  eyes  sideways  glancing, — 
Glitt'ring  like  an  unsheath'd  dagger, 
And  a  wild,  defiant  swagger 
In  his  air,  and  all  around  him 
Wild-like  as  the  wilds  that  found  him 
Coming  from  their  lone  recesses — 
Wanderer  of  the  wildernesses  ? 

Well  did  ev'ry  rustic  know  him : 
Many  a  kindness  did  they  show  him, 
When  from  midnight  watchings  dreary, 
He  sought  shelter,  wet  and  weary. 
Who  that  knew  his  wild  vocation 
Held  him  but  in  admiration? 
Who  that  heard  his  direful  doings, — 
Escapades  from  hot  pursuings, — 
Saw  his  furr'd  and  feather'd  plunder, — 
Loved  but  still  to  gape  and  wonder? 
Marvel  at  his  tales,  and  listen 
Till  their  very  eyes  would  glisten. 
For  it  seem'd  as  Nature  meant  it, 
Freedom's  cause  he  represented; 
And  his  life's  eventful  story 
Seem'd  to  them  ilium 'd  with  glory. 
161 


162  THE   POACHER. 

How  good  fortune  ne'er  forsook  him; 
How  disaster  ne'er  o'ertook  him ; 
How  in  ev'ry  clime  and  season 
He  succeeded,  pass'd  all  reason. 
Oft  the  sportsmen  in  a  bevy 
Volley'd  at  the  scatter'd  covey; 
And  for  many  a  wasted  cartridge 
Home  they  brought  a  single  partridge. 
Tarn,  from  some  dark  den  or  cavern, 
Or  from  some  warm,  wajTside  tavern, 
Ventur'd  forth  as  daylight  darken'd; 
Felt  his  way  and  watch 'd  and  hearken'd 
Went  by  lone  wilds  unfrequented, 
Knew  the  place  each  creature  haunted, 
Knew  their  various  calls,  and  whether 
Spread  apart  or  grouped  together, 
He  would  find  his  way  unto  them ; 
And,  as  if  dumb  instinct  drew  them, 
One  by  one  found  resting  places 
In  his  greatcoat's  deep  recesses ; 
And  the  dawning  daylight  found  him 
With  his  booty  strung  around  him, 
Mix'd  'mong  folks  of  sober  paces 
Walking  to  the  market  places. 

Yet  with  all  his  easy  gaining, 
Anxious  care  with  him  remaining, 
Ever  in  his  mind  ran  riot 
Through  dark  regions  of  unquiet, — 
Regions  sown  with  seeds  of  folly, 
Growing  weeds  of  melancholy. 
And  his  life's  first  fond  delusion 
Led  to  labyrinths  of  confusion; 


THE  POACHER.  163 

Law  had  set  her  e3res  upon  him ; 
Loosed  her  hungry  beagles  on  him ; 
And  for  all  his  vain  parading 
Life  to  him  was  masquerading, — 
Outward — bright  and  bravely  showing 
Inward — dark  and  darker  growing. 

One  fond  hope  his  fancy  treasured, 
Gleaming  o'er  life's  waste  unmeasured, 
Radiant  as  a  light  before  him 
Shedding  sweetest  influence  o'er  him 
Love  had  lit  its  fires  within  him ; 
Love  it  was  alone  could  win  him 
From  life's  wild  and  wayward  byways 
Back  to  its  well-beaten  highways. 

Oft  when  through  the  wilds  he  rambled, 

Or  by  cliffs  and  crags  he  scrambled, 

Or  lay  hid  in  darken' d  corry, 

Visions  came,  as  if  a  glory 

Touched  the  dark  earth's  face  with  whiteness; 

Lit  the  blacken'd  air  to  brightness; 

Roused  the  man  to  hope  and  feeling; 

While  in  beauty  there  revealing 

To  his  ravish'd  soul  the  splendor 

Of  the  bright  eyes,  sweet  and  tender, 

And  the  face  that  glowed  serenely, 

And  the  form  so  fair  and  queenly 

Of  the  Deeside  Lass  thrill'd  through  him; 

And  the  happy  thought  came  to  him 

That  in  some  calm  nook  together, 

Some  green  glen  beside  the  heather, 

Love  and  joy  and  peace  would  bind  them, 

Happiness  contented  find  them. 


164  THE   POACHER. 

Never  had  his  hopes  been  spoken, 
Never  was  love's  silence  broken : 
But  he  had  begun  to  woo  her 
As  his  dark  eyes  soften'd  to  her 
When  they  met  by  field  or  meadow, 
Met  and  pass'd  like  light  and  shadow; 
Felt  her  presence  like  caressing 
Linger  with  him  like  a  blessing. 


THE   DEESIDE  LASS. 

"  What  hand  but  would  a  garland  cull 
For  thee  who  art  so  beautiful? " 

— Wordsworth. 

[HE  lass  was  bonnie,  and  the  Muse 
Knows  hardly  how  or  where  to  choose 
From  things  in  heaven,  or  earth,  or  air, 
To  match  a  lass  so  bright  and  fair. 
She  was  not  just  like  heavenly  things, 
Whose  azure  eyes  and  pearly  wings 
Are  only  meant  for  realms  of  bliss 
And  not  for  weary  worlds  like  this. 
Yet  there  was  something  in  her  eyes 
So  sweet,  so  calm,  so  heavenly  wise, 
Unfathom'd  in  its  depth  it  seem'd : 
A  ceaseless  fount  of  joy,  it  gleam'd 
Mysterious  as  the  stars  and  free 
From  shadows  as  a  sunlit  sea, 
Forever  flashing,  and  the  while 
Lit  up  with  an  eternal  smile. 
Her  wondrous  wealth  of  golden  hair 
Was  lit  with  sunshine  here  and  there. 
Her  glowing  face  in  rosy  youth 
Breath'd  innocence  and  trustful  truth. 
Upon  her  forehead,  broad  and  bare, 
The  calmness  of  the  summer  air 
Seem'd  resting  as  in  perfect  peace; 
There  mortal  passions  seemed  to  cease 
165 


166  THE  DEESIDE  LASS. 

Their  restless  fires,  and,  shining  there, 
The  mind  dwelt  as  a  maiden's  prayer, 
All  pure  in  cloudless  innocence, 
All  strong  in  keen  intelligence. 
What  though  her  shapely  arm  and  hand 
By  toil  'neath  summer  suns  were  tann'd; 
What  though  her  rustic,  homely  dress 
Showed  labor's  honest  humbleness; 
There  dwelt  about  her  noble  form 
The  grace  that  grows  in  wind  and  storm, 
And  gathers  strength  from  ev'ry  blast, 
Till  fixed  in  stately  form  at  last 
It  standeth  like  the  waving  pine, 
Serenely  in  the  calm  sunshine, 
Serenely  when  the  tempests  lower 
It  stands  in  beauty  and  in  power. 
A  ribbon  bound  her  flowing  hair 
Like  Hebe  bright  or  Juno  fair. 
And  such  her  form  and  artless  grace, 
And  such  her  sweet  and  noble  face, 
That  one  beholding  might  divine 
She  would  have  graced  the  fabled  Nine 
Who  dwelt  on  famed  Parnassus  hill, 
And  drank  Castalia's  crystal  rill. 
Thus  walk'd  she  on  the  velvet  grass, 
That  bright-eyed,  bonnie  Deeside  lass. 


THE  MOURNFU'  HITHER. 

LEEZE  me  on  a  mither's  love, 
Sae  steady  aye  and  strang; 
Nae  love  bides  deeper  i'  the  heart, 
There's  nane  that  lasts  as  lang: 
Clear  as  the  ever  burning  light 
O'  some  bright  beacon  flame, 
Through  langest  nights,  through  drearest  hours, 
It  sparkles  aye  the  same. 

I'll  ne'er  forget  that  mither  yet 

At  Aberdeen  awa' — 
Quo'  she,  "Ye've  maybe  seen  my  son 

That's  in  America? 
His  een  were  blue,  his  hair  it  hung 

In  yellow  ringlets  doun — 
Ye  wadna  see  a  lad  like  him 

In  a'  the  country  roun'. 

"And  kindly  letters  lang  he  sent, 

That  aye  brought  joy  to  me ; 
They  cam  as  gowden  glints  o'  light 

Come  owre  the  flow'ry  lea; 
Till  ance  we  heard  he  wasna  weel — 

What  ailed  they  didna  say — 
An'  then  we've  got  nae  ither  word 

For  mony  a  weary  day. 
167 


168  THE   MOURNFU'   MITHER. 

"Ae  langsome  night  I  dreamed  a  dream 

I  thought  I  saw  his  face, 
An'  unco  fowk  were  gather'd  round, 

And  in  an  unco  place; 
They  laugh'd,  they  sang,  and  blithely  danc'd 

Wi'  muckle  mirth  and  glee 
But  aye  there  cam'  an  unco  lass 

Between  my  son  an'  me. 

"But  if  he's  dead  or  if  he's  wed, 

O  tell  me  a'  ye  ken ; 
I've  dree'd  the  warst  and  hoped  the  best — 

Ay,  owre  an'  owre  again ! 
An'  aft  the  saut  tears  blind  my  een, 

An'  aft  my  heart's  been  sair, 
To  think  that  e'er  a  bodie's  ain 

Would  mind  their  ain  nae  mair. 

"An'  O,  whaure'er  his  feet  hae  gane, 

Whate'er  his  luck  has  been, 
I'm  sure  he  hasna  met  wi'  freends 

Like  them  at  Aberdeen. 
O,  speak  a  kindly  word  o'  them, 

An'  maybe  blithe  he'll  be 
To  listen  to  your  freendly  crack, 

An'  think  o'  them  an'  me. 

O,  wanderers  frae  your  native  land, 

How  can  ye  bear  to  see 
The  sunlight  o'  a  mither's  love 

Grow  dim  on  memory's  e'e? 
O  bask  ye  in  its  kindly  rays, 

An'  fan  its  fervid  flames 
There's  nae  love  like  a  mither's  love 

This  side  the  hame  o'  hames ! 


THE  WIFE   O'  WEINSBERG. 

ADAPTED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OP  BURGER. 

GIN  I  kent  whaur  Weinsberg  was, 

That  toun  o'  muckle  fame, 
Whaur  Woman's  worth  the  brichtest  blooms 
In  ilka  dainty  dame; 
I'd  choose  a  wife  to  cheer  my  life 
AD  mak'  the  place  my  hame ! 

Langsyne  King  Conrad  led  his  ranks, 

As  ancient  legends  say, 
An'  set  them  doun  by  Weinsberg  toun 

In  a'  their  fierce  array ; 
Wi'  axe  and  spear  an'  warlike  gear 

They  battled  nicht  an'  day. 

For  weeks  they  never  closed  an  e'e, 

But  foucht  wi'  micht  an'  main; 
The  air  was  black  wi'  stoure  and  wrack, 

The  arrows  fell  like  rain ; 
The  Weinsberg  folk  withstood  the  shock 

An'  bauldly  held  their  ain. 

Till  worn  at  last  wi'  wastrife  war 

Hope  glimmer'd  laigh  an'  dim, 
An'  mauchtless  hands  let  fa'  the  sword 

An'  want  glower'd  gaunt  an'  grim ; 
They  sought  for  peace  frae  Conrad's  grace, 

An'  mercy  begg'd  frae  him! 
J69 


170  THE   WIFE   O'    WEINSBERG. 

The  king  he  swore  a  fearsome  aith, — 

AD'  awesome  king  was  he, — 
That  ilka  man  an'  mither's  son 

O'  high  or  low  degree, 
Baith  auld  and  young,  he'd  hae  them  hung 

Upon  the  gallows  tree ! 

O  mony  hearts  that  day  were  sad, 
An'  cheeks  were  blanch'd  wi'  fear! 

An'  mony  a  weary,  weary  e'e 
Let  fa'  the  saut,  saut  tear ! 

For  scorn  an'  scaith  an'  shamefu'  death 
Are  unco  hard  to  bear ! 

A  Weinsberg  wife  whase  wedded  life 

But  aucht  days  joy  had  seen, 
Set  out  wi'  courage  gleaming  through 

The  love-licht  o'  her  een ; 
Alane  she  stood  for  womanhood 

Before  the  king — a  queen ! 

She  pled  the  weary  women's  cause, 

In  words  baith  fair  an'  fain, 
Since  for  the  men  sae  scant  o'  grace 

Their  prayers  had  been  in  vain, 
An'  moved  his  heart  to  tak'  their  part 

An'  save  what  was  their  ain. 

An'  forth  the  royal  mandate  ran, 

That  by  his  high  decree 
The  wives  micht  tak'  their  treasures  out 

Whate'er  their  gear  may  be ; 
"The  bauld  and  brave  should  aerve  an'  save 

The  women-folk,"  said  he. 


THE  WIFE   O'   WEINSBERG.  171 

What  stir  there  was  in  Weinsberg  toun ! 

What  words  o'  joy  they  spak'  ! 
As  ane  by  ane  each  wife  was  seen 

Her  man  upon  her  back ! 
An'  out  the  road  each  took  her  load 

Like  peddler  wi'  a  pack. 

Each  lad  to  his  ain  lass  he  clung; 

The  callants  to  their  mithers ; 
The  lassies  blithely  bore  alang, 

Their  wee,  wee  bits  o'  brithers; 
Maids  found  a  mate,  for  bach'lors  blate 

Had  cuist  aside  their  swithers. 

King  Conrad  glower'd  amaz'd  to  see 

The  triumph  on  its  way ; 
"Our  royal  word  shall  stand,"  said  he, 

"Let  come  or  gang  what  may, 
An'  on  my  life  the  Weinsberg  wife 

Has  fairly  won  the  day!" 

O  tell  me  now  whaur  Weinsberg  lies, 

That  toun  o'  muckle  fame, 
Whaur  Woman's  worth  the  brichest  blooms 

In  ilka  dainty  dame, 
I'll  choose  a  wife  to  crown  my  life, 

An'  mak'  the  place  my  hame ! 


THE  DOMINIE  AND  THE  BETHERAL. 

tHE  Dominie  sat  and  the  Betheral  sat, 
And  stirr'd  round  their  toddy  wi'  glee: 
"A  bonnie-like  scrape,"  the  Dominie  said — 
"An  unco-like  scrape,"  said  he. 
"I  wonder  how  fowk  canna  gang  the  right  gate 
As  doucely  as  you  an'  me. 

"O  wha  would  hae  thought  that  the  bonnie  young 
Laird, 

Sae  modest  an'  winsome  an'  braw, 
Would  e'er  lost  his  wits  wi'  a  jaud  o'  a  lass 

An'  run  wi'  the  hizzie  awa'? 
An'  broken  the  heart  o'  his  father,  the  Laird, 

An'  madden'd  the  Lady  an'  a'. 

"An'  yet  wha  can  say  that  it's  ill  he  has  done? 

Though  youth  is  aft  foolish  an'  fain ; 
It's  little  o'  joy  that  the  blithest  can  get 

In  this  warld  o'  trouble  an'  pain ; 
An'  a  burden  o'  care  grows  lighter,  they  say, 

When  a  lad  has  a  lass  o'  his  ain. 

"I've  skelpit  the  bairns  an'  tutor 'd  them  weel 

These  thirty  lang  winters  an'  three; 
An'  fient  the  ae  glint  o'  a  happy  bit  blink 

Has  ever  ance  open'd  on  me, 

Till  my  heart's  grown  as  sour  an'  my  banes  are  as 
cauld 

As  the  rungs  o'  a  fusion  less  tree. 

m 


THE  DOMINIE  AND   THE   BETHERAL.        173 

"An*  aften  at  night  when  sleep  winna  come 

I  lie  an'  I  gaunt  an'  I  grane; 
An'  the  wind  answers  back  wi'  a  sough  i'  the  lum 

Like  somebody  making  a  mane; 
An'  I  wish  that  the  years  would  tak'  wings  an'  flee 
back, 

An'  I  was  a  laddie  again. 

"O  then  wi'  a  weel-faur'd  hizzie  like  Jean, 

I'd  awa'  to  the  land  o'  the  free, 
An'  bask  ilka  day  in  the  light  o'  her  smiles 

An'  the  bonnie  blithe  blinks  o'  her  e'e; 
An'  the  carking  cares  o'  this  wark-o'-day  warl, 

Would  never  ance  settle  on  me. 

"Forbye,"  the  Dominie  wisely  said, 
As  he  smack'd  and  smack'd  at  a  sip,— 

"The  lass  was  right  when  she  stuck  to  the  lad, — 
She  was  wise  that  keepit  the  grip ; 

They  seldom  get  twice  the  chance  o'  a  lad 
If  ever  they  let  him  slip. 

"  An'  the  lad  did  weel  when  he  stuck  to  the  lass, — 
A  braw  strappin'  quean  an'  a  trim ; — 

She  hasna  left  ane  in  the  parish,  I  wat, 
Sae  clean  an'  sae  straught  in  the  limb; 

Nae  wonder  I  think  on  her  beauty  an'  grace, 
Nae  wonder  I  wish  I  was  him. 

"But  bide  till  the  bairns  come  thrangin'  around — 

For  poor  fowk  never  hae  few- 
Like  a  cleckin  o'  birds  a'  scraighin  for  meat, 

An'  ilka  ane  gaping  its  mou' : 
Poor  Donald  will  think  o'  the  fool  that  he  was, 

An'  wish  he  was  single,  I  trow." 


174         THE   DOMINIE  AND   THE   BETHERAL. 

Then  the  Dominie  laugh'dand  the  Betheral  laugh'd, 

As  if  they  would  never  have  done. 
When  one  piped  loud  the  other  piped  loud, 

Like  chaffinches  whistling  in  June ; 
When  one  squeak' d  low  the  other  squeak' d  low, 

Like  two  old  fiddles  in  tune. 

Then  the  Dominie  finished  his  wandering  speech, 

And  said  with  a  flash  in  his  eye : 
"O  bide  till  a  fortnight  has  sober'd  them  down, 

An'  bide  till  the  fever  gae  by,— 
The  lad  will  be  back  to  his  father  again 

An'  Jean  will  be  milking  the  kye. 

"Cauf -love's  weel  kent  as  a  canny  complaint 

That  bides  i'  the  heart  nae  mair 
Than  the  bonnie  bit  blink  when  a  sunshiny  shower 

Gars  a  rainbow  glow  i'  the  air; 
It's  up  like  a  flash  an'  awa'  in  a  wink, 

As  if  it  had  never  been  there. 

"But  here's  to  oursel's!  May  the  comfort  that  comes 

Frae  a  drap  o'  the  barley  bree 
Aye  cheer  up  our  hearts  in  this  warld  o'  change, 

Whatever  the  changes  may  be : 
Be  they  beddings,  or  burials,  or  Sittings,  or  feasts, 

They're  a'  ane  to  you  an'  to  me." 


THE  AMERICANIZED   SCOT; 

OR, 
JEM  WILSON  AND  THE  QUEEN. 

WILSON  was  siccar,   Jem    Wilson  was 

dour, 

Jem  never  let  anything  slip ; 
Through  thick  an'  through  thin,  through  storm  and 

through  stoure, 

Jem  Wilson  he  keepit  the  grip. 
Though  he  dwelt  mony  years  in  the  wilds  o'  the 

West, 

Where  the  prairie  spreads  bonnie  and  green, 
He  ne'er  shook  the  auld  yird  frae  his  feet  like  the 

rest, 
For  Jem  couldna  gae  back  on  the  Queen ! 

"I  ken  na  how  fowk  can  be  ae  thing  this  day 

And  anither  the  morn, ' '  said  he, 
"But  fools  like  a  cheenge,  an'  gowks  say  their  say, 

And  they  winna  be  guidit  by  me ; 
Some  chields  turn  out  bauld  Republican  loons, 

And  forget  what  their  forebears  hae  been, 
But  there's  heads  that's  ordained  to  be  wearers  o* 
crowns, 

And  I  canna  gae  back  on  the  Queen!" 
376 


1?6  THE  AMERICANIZED  SCOT. 

Some  lauch'd  at  his  notions,  some  pitied  his  plicht, 

Jem  cared  na  for  daffin  or  jeers, 
Some  said  that  his  mind  would  let  in  the  daylicht 

In  the  course  o'  a  dizzen  o'  years. 
But  the  days  slippit  by  and  his  heart  beat  in  truth, 

To  a  lady  he  never  had  seen ; 
He  forgot  the  maist  feck  o'  the  freends  o'  his  youth, 

But  he  aye  keepit  mind  o'  the  Queen ! 

Some  said  that  the  day  when  he  left  his  auld  hame 

Was  the  day  he  gaed  back  on  them  a' ; 
How  the  auld  country  fowk  and  their  ways  like  a 
dream, 

Were  worth  naebody's  notice  ava; 
How  the  present  is  more  than  the  past,  and  a  man 

Is  more  than  the  laddie  he's  been ; 
Jem  stood  like  a  rock  where  his  childhood  began ! 

Jem  stuck  like  a  clam  by  the  Queen ! 

When  ithers  gaed  wud  in  political  war, 

An'  grappled  in  fiery  debate, 
Jem  sat  like  a  boulder  on  bleak  Lochnagar, 

As  lifeless  as  meat  on  a  plate. 
Wi'  ithers  the  sky  was  aft  murky  an'  black, 

Wi'  Jem  it  was  calm  and  serene, 
They  dwelt  in  the  wrack  o'  the  hurricane's  track, 

Jem  bask'd  in  the  grace  o'  the  Queen. 

When  billies  fu'  pawkily  hinted  that  Jem, 
Would  mak'  a  grand  Shirra  or  Mayor; 

How  the  fowk  were  juist  waiting  for  stalwarts  like 

him, 
To  keep  the  young  State  in  repair. 


THE  AMERICANIZED   SCOT.  177 

"Ye  '11  haeto  keep  waiting,"  said  Jem,  "if  that's  so, 
But  ye  needna  blaw  stoure  in  my  een, 

Come  weal  or  come  woe  wherever  I  go, 
Till  death  I'll  be  leal  to  the  Queen!" 

At  last — wha  can  tell  what  fortune  or  fate, 

Will  some  day  bring  as  our  shares, — 
Some  far  awa'  freend  had  left  an  estate, 

An'  Jem — he  was  ane  o'  the  heirs ! 
But  the  law  o'  the  State  sae  craftily  stood, 

Jem  couldna  lay  hands  on  a  preen, 
Till  he  swore  aff  allegiance  to  a'  royal  blood, 

An'  save  us !  especially  the  Queen ! 

Poor  Jem  never  dream 'd  that  the  time  would  come 
round 

To  test  what  his  metal  was  worth ; — 
How  sudden  his  braggin'  was  a'  empty  sound 

When  he  gaed  to  inherit  the  earth 
He  ran  an'  he  swore — on  the  Bible  he  swore — 

Wi'  a  terrible  gleam  in  his  een, — 
Jem  Wilson  was  subject  to  princes  no  more, 

Renouncing  forever  the  Queen ! — 

But  the  warst  o'  't  was  this,  when  Jem  reached  the 
spot, 

Wi'  mony  lang  mile  o'  a  tramp, 
Twa  sandy  bit  hillocks  stood  guard  owre  a  lot 

That  measured  ten  acres  o'  swamp ! 
The  crap  o'  mosquitoes  an'  puddocks  was  grand, 

But  never  a  leaf  that  was  green, 
A  neuk  o'  a  desert  poor  Jem  had  in  hand, 

In  exchange  for  the  loss  o'  the  Queen ! 


178  THE  AMERICANIZED   SCOT. 

Now  friends  tak'  a  thocht  and  keep  mind  in  your 

mirth, 

Though  we  lauch  at  the  frailty  o'  Jem, 
When  the  Queen  gets  a  chance  o'  some  neuk  o'  the 

earth 

She  winna  be  speerin'  at  him. 
When  we  vow  that  we'll  stick  by  the  things  that  we 

like, 

Juist  think  what  the  vanish'd  has  been, 
Fond  fancies  aft  fade  like  the  snaw  aff  a  dyke, 
As  fickle  as  Jem  wi'  the  Queen ! 


THE  ROYAL   SCOT. 

"  The  friends  thou  hast  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel." 

— Shakespeare. 

'HEN  through  the  mist  o'  vanish'd  years 
The  past  shines  bright  an'  bonnie,  O ! 
The  gowden  glow  the  vision  wears 
I  hardly  share  't  wi'  ony,  O ! 
But  there  is  ane,  fu'  crouse  an'  keen, 

I  like  to  mak'  the  sharer,  O ! 
His  honored  name's  weel  kent  to  fame — 
The  leal  MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
I  ken  there's  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
Ah,  then,  there's  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
The  freend  I've  got  's  a  Royal  Scot — 
The  noble  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 

I  canna  bide  the  bleezin'  halls, 

The  haunts  o'  haverin'  asses,  O! 
Whaur  senseless  fools  at  blithesome  balls 

Are  oxterin  at  the  lasses,  O ! 
I'd  rather  gae  whaur  I  could  hae 

A  joy  serenely  dearer,  O ! 
Some  cozy  place  whaur,  face  to  face, 
I'd  sit  and  crack  wi'  Crerar,  O ! 
There's  worth  in  Duncan  Crerar,  O 
There's  mirth  in  Duncan  Crerar,  O! 
There's  hamely  sense,  without  pretence, 
In  dainty  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
179 


180  THE   ROYAL  SCOT. 

When  Memory  spreads  her  wandering  wings, 

An'  Crerar  tells  his  stories,  O ! 
And  bright  in  graphic  grandeur  brings 
Fair  Scotland's  glens  an'  corries,  O ! 
The  heather  hills,  the  wimplin'  rills, 

In  fancy's  e'e  flash  fairer,  O ! 
Ilk  hallowed  place,  an'  form,  an'  face, 
Come  at  the  call  o'  Crerar,  O ! 

He's  rare !     MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
God  spare  MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
He  cracks  sae  fine  that  Auld  Langsyne 
Is  here  again  wi'  Crerar,  O ! 

What  couthy  kirns!    What  gatherings  blithe! 

What  partings,  sad  and  tender,  O ! 
What  light  an'  shade  thegither  kythe 

In  panoramic  splendor,  O ! 
What  glowing  health !     What  wondrous  wealth 

O'  life  each  seems  the  bearer,  O ! 
How  brisk  and  bright  in  living  light 
They  dwell  wi'  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
There  's  heart  in  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
There  's  art  in  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
The  Scottish  men  frae  hill  an'  glen 
Live  in  the  brain  o'  Crerar,  O ! 

When  kirkyard  tales  come  in  his  head, 

The  light  grows  dim  an'  dimmer,  O ! 
The  dead  claes  rustle  round  the  dead ; 

The  ghaist  lights  glance  an'  glimmer,  O ! 
The  mouldy  banes,  the  sculptured  stanes 

Are  tragic  wonders  rarer,  O ! 
Than  actors'  arts,  whase  weirdest  parts 

Are  no  a  match  to  Crerar,  O ! 


THE   ROYAL  SCOT.  181 

What  skill !  MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
To  thrill !  MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
Play-actor  fowks  are  maistly  gowks 
Compared  wi'  Duncan  Crerar,  O! 


Sometimes  in  verse  his  polished  pen 

Flows  on  in  stately  measure,  O ! 
Whiles  round  his  board  the  brightest  men 

Confab  in  princely  pleasure,  O ! 
How  fine's  the  sight  when  genius  bright 

Illumes  each  royal  sharer,  O ! 
The  brain  and  tongue  o'  auld  an'  young 
Catch  fire  frae  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
How  bland  i    Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
How  grand  is  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
It 's  wealth  to  clasp,  in  kinship's  grasp, 
The  noble  freends  o'  Crerar,  O ! 


But  weak  's  my  Muse  to  chant  his  praise, 

Or  sing  his  graces  mony,  O ! 
Weel  worthy  he  o'  loftier  lays 

Than  aught  frae  me,  his  crony,  O ! 
As  years  row  by,  an'  age  comes  nigh, 

I'll  stick  by  him  the  nearer,  O! 
For  few  there  be  that  pleases  me 
Like  rare  MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
He  's  fine !  MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
He  's  mine !  MacGregor  Crerar,  O ! 
I've  straiked  my  loof  in  freendship's  proof 
Wi'  few  like  Duncan  Crerar,  O! 


182  THE  ROYAL  SCOT. 

Auld  Scotland's  bairns  hae  wandered  far 

Owre  sea  an'  land  an'  river,  O ! 
'Neath  Southern  Cross  or  Western  star, 

They're  Scots  at  heart  forever,  O ! 
By  land  or  sea,  whaure'er  they  be, 

The  auld  hame  seems  the  fairer,  O ! 
There  's  thousands  ten  o'  Scottish  men 
That  feel  like  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
I'm  wi'  ye!     Duncan  Crerar,  O! 
Here  's  to  ye !  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 
Abroad  or  hame,  Scots  bless  the  name 
O'  loyal  Duncan  Crerar,  O ! 


THE    WANDERER 

LANG  SYNE  on  the  hills?  where  the  blaeberries 
grew, 
And  the  laverock  sang  sweetly  far  up  in 

the  blue, 

Ilka  day  glided  by  like  a  lang  happy  dream, 
Till   I   hear  my   fond   mither  cry,    "Laddie,   come 

hame! 

Laddie,  come  hame!   Laddie,  come  hame! 
You're  lang  awa'  wandering,  Laddie,  come  hame!" 

In  a  far  awa'  land,  through  the  din  o'  the  years, 
In  the  sunshine  o'  hopes,  and  the  shadow  o'  fears, 
I  hear  a  sweet  echo  still  calling  my  name — 
And  it's  "Oh,  but  you're  lang  awa',  Laddie,  come 

hame! 

Laddie,  come  hame!    Laddie,  come  hame! 
You're  lang  awa'  wandering,  Laddie,  come  hame !" 

Though  life's  fondest  fancies  are  idle  and  vain, 
And  my  feet  may  ne'er  tread  the  red  heather  again: 
In  the  land  o'  the  leal,  when  I  catch  the  first  gleam, 
May  I  hear  the  glad  welcome,  "Laddie,  come  hame! 
Laddie,  come  hame !    Laddie,  come  hame  F 
You're  lang  awa'  wandering,  Laddie,  come  hame!" 

183 


OCCASIONAL  VERSES. 


a   £>e&tcatton. 

TO     HON.     WALLACE'    BRUCE. 

O  THOU  whose  voice  in  crowded  halls 
Fond  menrry  oft-time  gladly  hears, 

While  thronging  at  thy  clarion  calls 
Come  echoes  of  a  thousand  years, 

Wild  ringing  with  the  thrilling  words,- 

A  noble  gift  to  noble  use, 
Keen  as  the  flashing,  fateful  swords 

Of  Scotland's  Wallace  or  her  Bruce. 

Take  thou  these  rustic  random  rhymes,- 
Poor  token  of  a  warm  regard, 

Faint  echoes  of  our  tuneless  times 
Caught  by  a  humble  brother  bard. 


184 


IN  THE  GOLDEN  CAGE. 

I. 

O'ER  the  hills  of  effort  lie 
Fields  of  opportunity. 
Wild  ways,  rank  with  brier  and  weed, 
Unto  happy  fortune  lead. 
Early  striving  brings  full  soon, 
Golden,  gladsome  afternoon. 
Weary  hours  wyith  labor  spent 
Bring  the  twilight's  sweet  content. 
Earth's  bright  jewels  shall  be  thine, 
Delver  in  the  darksome  mine. 
Effort,  labor,  toil  and  stress, 
Bring  full  measure  of  success. 

II. 

Such  vain  words  were  counted  truth 
In  my  tame  and  tender  youth, 
Hollow,  tinkling  platitudes, 
Learn'd  in  reverential  moods, 
Taught  with  fervor  and  believed, 
Which  nor  years  have  undeceived. 
Not  though  near  me,  then  and  still, 
Horny  hand  and  iron  will 
Bent  my  elders  with  life's  load 
Earthward  on  a  darksome  road, 
Dumb  as  cattle,  poor  as  slaves, 
Tottering  into  nameless  graves. 

185 


186  IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE. 

III. 

Wisdom,  with  thy  starry  eyes, 
Come  thou  from  thy  native  skies, 
Shed  thy  light  and  we  shall  see 
All  is  but  inconstancy. 
Life  moves  darkly  as  by  chance 
Led  by  varied  circumstance. 
Fortune's  favor  rarely  falls 
Where  the  voice  of  merit  calls. 
Knaves  bloom  bravely  in  our  eyes, 
Goodness  walks  in  dull  disguise ; 
Weak  are  we  as  passing  breath, 
Hastening  to  the  shades  of  death. 

IV. 

I,  unthinking  were  and  rude 
If  unfelt  deep  gratitude 
That  the  hand  of  chilling  age 
Finds  me  in  this  golden  cage, 
Lifted  heavenward  as  on  wings, 
Far  removed  from  earthly  things. 
Here  serenely  set  in  truth, 
Comes  to  me  my  vanished  youth, 
Graced  with  manhood's  earlier  charms, 
Clasps  me  in  his  iron  arms; 
Soul  and  sense  and  heart  and  brain 
Transfigured  to  my  self  again. 


IN    THE   GOLDEN    CAGE.  187 

V. 


Brightlier  blooms  the  golden  hours, 
Efflorescent  as  the  flowers; 
Panoramic  splendors  lie 
Glitt'ring  'neath  a  burnished  sky; 
Burns  the  City's  shining  spires, 
Glowing  into  flaming  fires; 
Whitened  miles  of  frescoed  stone, 
Splendid  as  the  Parthenon, 
Spread  afar  in  square  and  street, 
Like  a  picture  at  my  feet, 
Like  a  book  whose  storied  page 
Opens  to  my  golden  cage. 


VI. 

Here  the  gathered  navies  rest 
On  the  water's  shining  breast; 
Here  the  great  ships  come  and  go 
On  their  journeys  to  and  fro ; 
Here  the  storied  castles  rise, 
Climbing  to  the  cloudless  skies, 
Where  the  ever-flashing  waves 
Of  the  full  tide  laps  and  laves. 
Yonder  buttress'd  bridge  towers  stand, 
Giants  stretching  hand  to  hand, 
From  their  lofty  shoulders  down, 
Firmly  linking  town  to  town. 


188  IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE. 

VII. 

Westward,  shadow-like  and  dim, 
On  the  far  horizon's  rim, 
Opalescent  mountains  show 
In  the  sunshine's  golden  glow. 
Eastward,  ever-flashing  white, 
Spreads  the  ocean,  broad  and  bright. 
Nearer,  clearer,  free  and  bold, 
Headlands  glitter,  green  and  gold, 
Linger  till  day's  parting  smiles 
Rest  upon  a  hundred  isles. 
Where  can  fairer  vision  be, 
Than  this  city  by  the  sea  ? 

VIII. 

Sinks  in  flaming  fire  the  sun ; 
Conies  the  twilight,  pale  and  dun; 
Flash  the  myriad  stars  and  soon 
Rides  aloft  the  silver  moon, 
While  in  splendor  underneath, 
Woven  wonders,  arch  and  wreath, 
Cross  and  crescent,   curve   and  line, 
Into  burnish'd  beauty  shine; 
Beaded  brilliance,  looped  and  hung, 
Glittering  garlands,  twined  and  swung, 
Flame  on  fretted  roof  and  tower, 
Heaven  and  earth  one  starry  shower. 


IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE.  189 

IX. 


Rare  it  is,  this  shining  show, 
Glittering  grace   and  golden  glow, 
Garner'd  wealth  from  far  and  near 
Fashions  into  richness  here. 
All  the  wonders  of  the  East 
Brought  as  to  a  royal  feast; 
All  the  richness  of  the  West, 
All  that's  brightest,  all  that's  best, 
Fragrant  South  and  balmy  Xorth 
Pour  their  choicest  treasures  forth; 
Every  clime  and  ev'ry  age 
Cluster  round  my  golden  cage. 


X. 


Here,  betimes,  thick-thronging,  fast, 
At  my  window  moving  past, 
Come  the  men  of  every  clime, 
Some  in  manhood's  golden  prime, 
Some  in  boyhood's  sunny  grace, 
Shining  eyes  and   radiant  face. 
Lovely  ladies  bright  and  fair, 
Rosy  cheeks  and  shining  hair, 
Jewell'd  dame  and  sober  nun 
Pass  serenely  one  by  one, 
Maiden,  matron,  youth  and  age 
.Moving  past  my  golden  cage. 


190  IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE. 

XL 

Think  not  they  are  nought  to  me, 

For  in  every  face  I  see 

Some  strange  tale  that  moves  and   stirs, 

Writ  in  magic  characters, 

Some  brief  look  or  crumb  of  speech 

Comes  within  my  little  reach, 

Rhythmic  as  a  soulful  song, 

Swiftly  comes  and  lingers  long, 

Weaves  in  every  passing  glance 

Fragments  of  a  strange  romance, 

Visions  darkly  understood, 

Echoing  in  solitude. 


XII. 

Here  in  restful  ease,  it  seems, 
Days  move  by  like  pleasant  dreams ; 
Earth  and  air  in  sweet  commune, 
Like  an  everlasting  June, 
Knows  no  sudden  check  or  change 
Into   something  new   and   strange. 
All  the  weary  stress  and  strife, 
All  the  carking  cares  of  life, 
Seem  removed  or  gently  come 
Like  the  City's  distant  hum, 
Sweetly  softened,  grave  or  gay, 
Musical  and  far  away. 


IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE.  191 

XIII. 


Here  the  light  task  passes  soon, 

And  the  drowsy  afternoon 

Sees  me  turning  Chaucer's  page 

Till  his  cheery  pilgrimage 

Brings  the  traveller's  lengthened  line, 

Numbering  up  to  twenty-nine: 

One  by  one,  and  two  by  two, 

Pass  along  in  bright  review; 

Past  and  present  seem  to  blend, 

Never  shall  their  journey  end: 

Centuries  vanish,  but  to-day 

All  his  pilgrims  pass'd  this  way. 


XIV. 

Ah,  had  I  his  matchless  grace, 
Here  are  ev'ry  form  and  face, 
Here  ten  thousand  might  begin 
Journeys  from  a  Tabard  Inn, 
Till  the  far  extended  line, 
Stretching  to  a  distant  shrine, 
Turned  again  and  slowly  wound 
In  an  everlasting  round, 
Fortune's  fav'rites  lucky-starr'd, 
Grizzled  vet'rans  battle-scarr'd, 
Soul  and  sense  and  heart  and  mind, 
Every  type  of  humankind. 


192  IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE. 

XV. 

Idle  thought — the  poet's  eye 
All  the  varied  forms  descry, 
Sees  them  in  that  larger  view, 
Comprehends  them  through  and  through, 
Knows  each  type,  and  in  his  songs 
Places  them  where  each  belongs; 
High  or  low,  or  coarse  or  fine, 
There  are  only  twenty-nine, 
Carved  some  type  to  represent, 
Like  a  graven  monument. 
Chaucer  knew  them  all  and  fix'd 
Each  his  place  distinct,  unmix'd. 


XVI. 

Let  us  gather  from  his  lay 
We  are  pilgrims  for  a  day, 
Fashioned  by  a  Hand  Divine, 
Travelling  to  a  distant  shrine, 
Knowing  that  like  ships  are  we, 
Drifting  on  a  pathless  sea, 
Hither  blown  by  fate  or  chance, 
Accident  or  circumstance. 
Let  us  strive  for  gifts  of  grace, 
Each  to  know  his  proper  place, 
And  contented  thereupon, 
Cheer  his  fellow-traveller  on. 


IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE.  193 

XVII. 


Let  us  learn  as  in  our  way, 
Life  is  but  an  April  day; 
Hollow  winds  and  sudden  showers 
Blast  the  bloom  of  early  flowers, 
Springtime's  breath  by  winter  chill'd, 
Hope's  fair  promise  unfulfilled; 
Happy  they  whose  checker'd  trip, 
Grac'd  by  fair  companionship, 
Learns  to  know  in  calm  content 
Labor  is  not  punishment. 
Toil  an  endless  joy  should  be, 
Idleness  is  misery. 


XVIII. 

Let  us  cherish  as  we  go 

They  whose  pace  is  weak  and  slow, 

Shed  the  light  of  jocund  joy 

All  around  us,  and  employ 

All  our  little  skill  to  bring 

Goodness  out  of  everything, 

And  however  low  our  lot, 

We  might  brighten  some  dull  spot, 

Stir  the  fading  fires  of  hope 

And  with  doubt  and  darkness  cope, 

While  fair  wisdom's  golden  ray 

Whiles  a  happy  hour  away. 


IN    THE    GOLDEN    CAGE. 
XIX. 

Envying  not  the  rich  or  great, 
Whatsoever  our  estate, 
Little  boots  it  more  or  less, 
Hiches  are  not  happiness, 
Envy  hath  its  hidden  stings 
In  our  vain  imaginings. 
Could  we  see  with  clearer  eyes 
Those  who  dwell  where  fortune's  skies 
Seem  illumed  with  golden  rays, 
Could  we  mark  their  tedious  ways, 
We  would  hear  each  one  confess 
Wealth  is  kin  to  wretchedness. 


XX. 

Sober  joys  are  always  sweet 
In  the  vales  of  low  retreat ; 
Mature  wears  her  gentlest  mood 
In  the  lowly  solitude. 
Sparkling  splendors,  beaming  bright, 
Mark  the  towering  mountain's  height, 
Dazzling  with  a  glittering  glow, 
Seen  by  longing  eyes  below; 
Grander  seem  they  from  afar, 
Than  when  resting  where  they  are; 
There  the  wild  winds  rave  and  pierce, 
There  the  storms  are  cold  and  fierce. 


IN   THE   GOLDEN    CAGE.  195 

XXI. 


March  on  bravely  day  by  day, 
Like  the  pilgrims  grave  or  gay. 
Fret  not  if  the  motley  throng 
Knaves  and  fools  are  mix'd  among, 
Kindly  cherish  each  and  find 
There  are  good  in  ev'ry  kind. 
Dwell  not  on  their  weaker  parts, 
They  have  only  human  hearts. 
Strive  to  make  life's  journey  seem 
Pleasant  as  a  happy  dream: 
Kindly  words  like  choicest  seeds 
Blossom  into  noble  deeds. 


XXII. 

Pales  the  slowly  sinking  sun, 
And  the  journey  nearly  done. 
Who  would  care  to  linger  on, 
When  the  lights  of  life  are  gone? 
Shall  we  turn  again  and  be 
In  another  company  ? 
No,  the  next,  the  coming  age, 
Starts  upon  its  pilgrimage. 
We  have  been  what  they  shall  be, 
We  have  seen  what  they  shall  see, 
We  have  heard  what  they  shall  hear, 
We  have  voiced  our  words  of  cheer. 


196  IN    THE   GOLDEN    CAGE. 

XXIII. 

Fear  not  though  the  darkness  falls 
On  the  shrine's  mysterious  walls; 
Other  feet  have  gone  before 
Through  the  ever-open  door, 
Other  weary  feet  shall  come 
To  the  shrine  where  all  is  dumb; 
High  or  low  or  small  or  great, 
Kone  need  strive  with  iron  fate, 
Come  as  travellers  weary-worn, 
Fret  not  of  another  morn, 
Blest  are  we  when  falling  deep 
In  a  long  and  dreamless  sleep. 


XXIV. 

If  the  awful  change  reveals 

What  the  dark'ning  day  conceals, 

And  the  doubtful  darkness  brings 

Light  beyond  imaginings, 

We,  to  larger  vision  grown, 

All  our  faults  and  frailties  known, 

And  with  nearer,  clearer  view, 

See  each  other  through  and  through, 

Brighter-visioned,  we  shall  know 

God  who  made  us  will'd  it  so, 

bought  in  nature  or  in  art 

E'er  could  change  our  destined  part. 


TO  QUEEN  ALEXANDRA. 

NO  lady  fair  in  hall  or  bower, 
In  days  when  knighthood  was  in  flower, 
Or  high-born  dame  with  jewels  set, 
Or  Tudor  or  Plantagenet, 
E'er  wore  enwreath'd  on  form  and  face 
Thy  royal  robe  of  richest  grace. 

Thou  dwellest  like  a  golden  gleam 
Of  hill  and  vale  and  glassy  stream, 
Where  flowery  banks  and  leafy  trees, 
And  song  of  birds,  and  hum  of  bees, 
Charm  eye  and  ear  till  soul  and  sense 
Are  rapt  by  nature's  eloquence. 

May  love's  warm  sunshine  round  thee  cling 

With  joys  beyond  imagining, 

And  fortune's  favors,  full  and  free, 

Come  fast  and  flowing  as  the  sea, 

While  ever  in  each  loyal  heart 

The  royal  queen  of  queens  thou  art. 


197 


TO  MRS.  J.  M.  E. 

YOU'\7E  heard  it  said  that  different  men 
They  canna  aye  agree, 
An'  sae  there  might  be  odds,  ye  ken, 
Between  your  man  an'  me. 

For  him,  he  's  studied  ancient  art, 

Auld  warks  wi'  unco  names, 
Until  his  hand  's  grown  real  expert 

At  Greek  an'  Roman  dames. 

For  me,  frae  hame  I  wadna  gae, 

The  simple  truth  to  tell; 
The  only  model  I  would  hae 

Would  be  your  bonnie  sel'. 

And  as  the  famous  job  I'd  mak 

To  high  perfection  grew, 
I'd  slack  my  hand  an'  turn  an'  tak 

The  tither  glower  at  you. 

Then  fame  would  keep  our  memories  green 

Among  immortal  names, 
And  wondering  fowk  would  swear  I'd  seen 

An  angel  in  my  dreams. 
198 


ANDREW  CARNEGIE. 

WHEN  guid   St.   Andrew  walk'd   the  earth 
Illumed  wi'  gifts  o'  grace, 
The  fowk  could  see  the  wondrous  worth 
Like  sunshine  in  his  face. 
Though  dreich  his  gate  and  hard  his  fate, 

An'  nought  had  he  to  spare, 
Through  grief  an'  gloom  an'  martyrdom, 
The  kindly  heart  was  there. 

Richt  proud  auld  Scotland's  bairns  engage 

Abroad  as  weel's  at  hame, 
To  roose  his  worth  from  age  to  age 

An'  bless  his  honored  name ; 
An'  aye  whaure'er  their  wandering  feet 

In  foreign  lands  might  stray, 
Fu'  blythe,  like  brithers  a',  they  meet 

Upon  St.  Andrew's  Day. 

Till  now  wi'  double  blessings  crown'd 

Ilk  Scot  is  wondrous  fain 
To  hail  Carnegie,  world-renowned, 

An  Andrew  o'  their  am', 
199 


200  ANDREW    CARNEGIE. 

Whase  gowden  gifts  fu'  big  an'  braw 

Are  boundless  as  the  sea, 
An'  aye  the  mair  he  gies  awa' 

The  mair  he  has  to  gie. 

What  splendor  rises  whaur  he's  been 

In  monumental  piles! 
Where  Knowledge  shines  on  a'  serene 

An'  letter'd  Learning  smiles; 
By  him  fair  Science  turns  her  key 

An'  opes  her  inmost  hool, 
He's  a'  our  daddies;  aye,  an'  we 

Are  laddies  at  the  schule! 

Ye  Powers  celestial  wi'  your  grace 

Aye  guide  his  regal  way, 
An'  may  he  live  to  bless  our  race 

Forever  and  a  day! 
Or  if  the  fates  hae  sae  decreed 

He  canna  tarry  here, 
0  wait  until  ye  nick  the  thread 

Aboon  a  hundred  year! 


JAMES  DALRYMPLE. 

ALTLD  Scotland's  bairns  hae  gifts  o'  grace, 
And  wisdom  great  and  ample; 
They  look  the  wide  warld  in  the  face 
And  show  a  good  example. 
Their  feckfu'  words,  their  daring  deeds 

Proclaim  in  hist'ry's  pages, 
For  couthie  hearts  and  clever  heads 
They  graced  the  echoing  ages. 

In  modern  days  they  are  na  blunt, 

Dame  Fortune's  ba'  pursuing; 
You'll  find  the  Scots  aye  at  the  front 

Where'er  there's  something  doing. 
Yon   frozen   pole — mysterious   spot — 

Before  they  print  the  map  o'  't, 
It's  prophesied  they'll  find  a  Scot 

Set  cockin'  on  the  tap  o'  't. 

Chicago's  Mayor — puir  anxious  man — 

Guid  faith,  he's  nae  sae  simple; 
He'd  like  a  page  o'  Glasgow's  plan 

Explained  by  Jem  Dalrymple. 
201 


202  JAMES    DALRYMPLE. 

An'  sae  the  worthy  Scot  cam  ower, 
An'  proud  we're  a'  to  see  him, 

An'  wish  that  he  had  had  the  power 
To  bring  the  Bailies  wi'  him. 

Chicago  bodies,  use  him  weel 

An'  ye'll  be  sure  o'  ae  thing, 
Dalrymple's  sic  a  canny  chiel 

He'll  rin  your  cars  for  naething! 
An'  when  his  wark  has  seen  the  crown 

O'  perfect  operation, 
O  send  him  back  to  ISfew  York  town 

For  Tammany's  reformation! 


EGBERT   BUCHANAN. 

LET  the  bells  of  London  toll 
For  a  grandly  gifted  soul; 
Silent  be  the  busy  throng 
While  a  peerless  prince  of  song 
Passes  shrouded  to  his  rest 
With  the  bravest  and  the  best. 
Lay  him  in  his  honored  tomb 
Where  the  fairest  flow' rets  bloom ; 
Wreathe  the  blossoms  fresh  and  sweet, 
Plant  the  daisies  at  his  feet; 
Twine  the  roses,  white  and  red, 
Round  about  his  noble  head. 

Poet!  in  whose  varied  verse 
All  the  muses  might  rehearse 
All  the  forms  and  all  the  fire 
Warbled  by  the  tuneful  lyre; 
Tragic,  mirthful,  tender,  sweet, 
In  a  flood  of  fancies  meet, 
Swaying  with  thy  accents  strong 
All  the  winning  wiles  of  song, 
Till  each  sympathetic  soul, 
Master'd  by  thy  mild  control, 
Owns  thy  witch'ry  and  admires 
Poesy's  celestial  fires. 
203 


204:  ROBERT    BUCHANAN 

Wizard !  from  whose  cunning  hand 
Rose,  as  if  from  fairyland, 
Magic  scenes  on  storied  page, 
Stirring  life  on  mimic  stage: 
Full  of  laughter  and  of  tears, 
Full  of  tender  hopes  and  fears, 
Rich  in  grandeur  and  in  gloom, 
Rich  in  beauty  and  in  bloom: 
Fired  with  madness,  sweet  with  grace, 
All  the  feelings  of  our  race — 
Passion,  pathos,  pity — all 
Come  illumin'd  at  thy  call. 

Friend !   where'er  thy  heavenward  flight, 
Wing'd  through  realms  of  quenchless  light, 
Onward  in  thy  glorious  course, 
Homeward  to  thy  primal  source, 
Unimagin'd  splendors  be 
Waiting  somewhere  long  for  thee. 
Kindred  souls,  to  greatness  grown, 
Greet  thee  gladly  as  their  own; 
Rest,  that  like  a  blessing  lies 
Beaming  in  thy  radiant  eyes, 
Peace,  indwelling  like  a  grace, 
Glow  like  sunshine  on  thy  face. 


ALEXANDER  JOHNSTON  CHALMERS 
SKENE,  M.D.,  LL.D. 

On  the  Occasion  of  Unveiling  His  Monument, 
May  5,  1906. 

SWEET  SPRING  her  charms  to  Nature  yields, 
And  waking  from  her  wintry  tomb, 
Comes  freshly  forth  to  deck  the  fields 
In  beauty  and  in  bloom. 

So  we,  with  feelings  warm  and  strong, 
Come  forth  with  loving  hands  to  place 

The  graven  shape  of  Skene  among 
The  noblest  of  our  race. 

O  Earth,  that  hold'st  his  honored  dust! — 
There  dwelleth,  fragrant  as  thy  flowers, 

Enshrined  in  Memory's  treasured  trust, 
His  wealth  of  princely  powers. 

He  wrought  with  kindly,  strong  desire 
To  soothe  the  suff'rings  of  our  kind, 

With  more  than  mortal  strength  and  fire 
And  mighty  heart  and  mind. 
205 


206         ALEXANDER    J.    C.    SKENE,    M.D.,    LL.D. 

Men  loved  and  praised  him,  for  the  grace 
Of  goodness  swayed  his  tongue  and  pen, 

While,  more  than  fame  or  power  or  place, 
He  loved  his  fellow-men. 

And  women  blessed  him;  for  their  weal 
His  master-hand  wrought  full  and  free, 

With  something  of  the  power  to  heal, 
Like  Him  of  Galilee. 

And  ever  where  the  hand  of  death 

Seem'd  with  the  fiercest  force  express'd, 

He  fought,  as  in  the  battle's  breath, 
Our  bravest  and  our  best. 

Till,  soldier-like,  with  soul  aflame, 
Undaunted  when  the  battle  lowers, 

He  answered,  when  the  summons  came, 
In  happier  spheres  than  ours. 


IN  GOD  WE  TKUST. 

Ein  >   1st  Unser  Gott. — Luther's  Hymn. 

•under  into  paths  unknown, 
But  still  the  kindly  ray 
Of  light  that  shineth  from  God's  throne 
Illumes  our  varied  way. 

Not  to  our  eyes  His  face  can  be 

A  shadow  dark  and  dim, 
But  day  by  day  our  eyes  can  see 

A  nearer  view  of  Him. 

He  knows  our  weakness,  and  our  ills 

Are  His  especial  care: 
His  bitter  cup  He  never  fills 

With  more  than  we  can  bear. 

If  Life's  thick-thronging,  tiresome  task 

A  heavy  burden  be, 
Ask  of  Him  as  a  child  may  ask, 

And  He  will  answer  thee. 

If  Hope's  dull  embers  faintly  glow, 

And    friends  seem  far  and  few? 
And  death's  dark  angel,  our  last  foe, 

Hath  smote  the  loved  and  true, 
207 


208  IN    GOD    WE   TRUST. 

Despair  not,  for  the  good  await 

That  golden  morn  to  be, 
To  meet  us  at  the  pearly  gate 

Beside  the  jasper  sea. 

And  light  or  darkness,  life  or  death, 
Whate'er  the  future  brings, 

Still  be  our  refuge  underneath 
The  shadow  of  His  wings. 

And  grace  shall  guide  us  day  by  day 

With  patience  to  endure, 
Until  the  shadows  flee  away, 

Because  our  trust  is  sure. 


NOTES. 

PAGE  9. 

IN  1861,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  American  Civil  War,  the 
79th  Highlanders,  headquarters  in  New  York  City,  consisted 
of  about  300  men,  divided  into  six  companies,  and  attached  to 
the  New  York  State  Militia.  The  Highland  uniform,  or  kilt, 
was  worn.  The  undress,  or  fatigue,  uniform  consisted  of 
caps,  blue  jackets  and  Cameron  tartan  trousers.  Their 
services  were  among  the  first  offered  to  the  government,  and 
on  May  13th  the  formal  acceptance  was  made.  Early  in  June, 
the  regiment,  recruited  to  nearly  900,  proceeded  to  Washington. 
From  such  reports  as  are  in  the  office  of  the  Adjutant-General 
at  Albany,  it  appears  that  there  were  enrolled  in  the  regiment, 
from  May,  1861,  to  May,  1864,  1,374  men. 

Of  these,  there  were  killed  in  battle  or  died  of  wounds  or 
disease,  190;  discharged,  by  reason  of  disability  caused  by 
wounds  or  sickness  and  other  causes,  747 ;  mustered  out  May, 
1864,  244;  transferred,  resigned,  and  dismissed  previous  to 
May,  1864,  76 ;  term  of  enlistment  not  completed,  117 ;  total 
1,374. 

The  second  period  of  the  regiment's  service  during  the 
Civil  War  dates  from  June,  1864,  to  July,  1865,  during  which 
period  609  men  were  attached  to  the  regiment.  Though  par 
ticipating  in  the  Siege  of  Petersburg  and  the  final  assault  on 
the  Confederate  works  there,  the  casualties  were  slight.  The 
final  mustering  out  of  the  service  of  the  government  occurred 
on  July  14,  1865. 

The  regiment  participated  in  the  following  engagements: 
1861.— July  18,  Blackburn's  Ford,  Virginia. 
July  21,  Bull  Run,  Virginia. 
September  11,  Lewinsville,  Virginia. 
September  25,  Lewinsville,  Virginia. 

215 


216  NOTES. 

1862. — January  1,  Port  Royal  Ferry,  South  Carolina. 

May  28,  Pocataligo,  South  Carolina. 

June  3-4,  James  Island,  South  Carolina. 

June  16,  Secession ville,  South  Carolina. 

August  21,  Kelly's  Ford,  Virginia. 

August  29-30,  Second  Bull  Run,  Virginia 

September  1,  Chantilly,  Virginia. 

September  14,  South  Mountain,  Maryland. 

September  17,  Antietam,  Maryland. 

December  13-14,  Fredericksburg,  Virginia. 
1863. — June-July  4,  Vicksburg,  Mississippi. 

July  10-17,  Jackson,  Mississippi. 

October  10,  Blue  Springs,  Tennessee. 

November  16,  Campbell's  Station,  Tennessee. 

November  17-December  5,   Siege  of  Knoxville,  Ten 
nessee. 

November  29,  Defense  of  Fort  Sanders,  Tennessee. 
1864. — January  21,  Strawberry  Plains,  Tennessee. 

January  22,  Between  Strawberry  Plains  and  Knoxville, 
Tennessee. 

May  6-7,  Wilderness,  Virginia. 

May  9-13,  Spottsylvania,  Virginia. 

October  27,  Hatcher's  Run,  Virginia. 
1865.— March  25,  Fort  Stedman,  Virginia. 

April  2,  Final  assault  on  Petersburg,  Virginia. 

PAGE  14. 

The  march  over  the  Cumberland  Mountains  occurred  in 
September,  1863.  The  division  of  the  Union  Army  consisted 
of  the  79th  New  York  (Highlanders),  8th  and  27th  Michigan, 
35th  and  36th  Massachusetts,  llth  New  Hampshire,  51st  New 
York,  45th  Pennsylvania,  and  Benjamin's  Battery,  United 
States  Artillery.  The  division  formed  a  part  of  the  Ninth 
Army  Corps,  commanded  by  General  Burnside.  Brigadier- 
General  David  Morrison,  Colonel  79th  New  York  (High 
landers)  ,  commanded  the  brigade  to  which  the  Highlanders 
were  attached. 


NOTES.  217 

PAGE  19. 

The  campaign  in  Eastern  Tennessee  began  on  September 
21,  1863.  The  first  encounter  with  the  Confederate  forces 
occurred  at  Blue  Springs  on  October  10th,  which  resulted  in 
completely  routing  the  rebels.  The  Union  Division  moved 
southward  and  took  up  winter  quarters  at  Lenoir.  The  Con 
federates  advanced  from  the  South  in  great  force  and  the 
Union  division  withdrew  to  Knoxville.  A  sharp  engagement 
occurred  at  Campbell's  Station  on  November  16th,  when  the 
Highlanders  successfully  held  in  check  the  Confederate 

cavalry. 

PAGE  24. 

The  Siege  of  Knoxville  began  on  November  17th.  The 
principal  defensive  work  was  a  fort  half  a  mile  west  of  the 
city  The  defenders  tof  this  chief  work  were  Benjamin's  Bat 
tery,  Company  E,  2d  United  States  Artillery,  part  of 
Buckley's  and  Romer's  Batteries,  Volunteer  Artillery  and  2d 
Michigan  Infantry  on  the  flank.  Two  companies  of  the  29th 
Massachusetts  Infantry  and  the  79th  New  York  (Highlanders) 
were  stationed  in  the  Northwest  bastion  of  the  fort.  The 
cannonade  from  the  Confederate  artillery,  chiefly  aimed  at 
the  [fort,  was  continued  almost  incessantly  from  November 
18th  till  November  28th. 

PAGE  29. 

The  final  assault  on  the  defenses  of  Knoxville  occurred  on 
Sunday  morning,  November  29,  1863.  General  Longstreet's 
entire  division,  numbering  over  8,000  men,  was  sent  against 
the  main  bastion  of  Fort  Sanders,  where  the  Highlanders  were 
stationed.  The  repulse  of  the  Confederates  was  complete, 
with  a  total  loss  of  129  men  killed,  458  wounded  and  226 
prisoners.  Three  battle-flags  were  captured  by  the  High 
landers.  In  referring  to  the  assault  on  Fort  Sanders,  the 
Southern  historian,  Pollard,  in  his  "Third  Year  of  the  War," 
says:  "la  this  terrible  ditch  the  dead  were  piled  eight  or  ten 
deep.  Never,  excepting  at  Gettysburg,  was  there  in  the 
history  of  the  war  a  disaster  adorned  with  the  glory  of  such 
devout  courage  as  Lougstreet's  repulse  at  Knoxville." 


218  NOTES. 

PAGE  40. 

Albyn,  an  ancient  name  applied  to  Caledonia,  used  by 
Campbell  in  "  Gertrude  of  Wyoming." 

PAGE  44. 

Noran  Water  rises  among  the  Grampian  Hills  in  the  north 
of  Forfarshire,  flows  south  and  east  through  that  county 
about  20  miles,  and  joins  the  South  Esk  near  the  ancient  burgh 
of  Brechin. 

PAGE  52. 

Angus  Rankin  was  Pipe-Major  of  the  79th  Regiment 
(Highlanders)  National  Guard,  State  of  New  York,  when  the 
regiment  was  mustered  out  of  the  service  of  the  State  in  1876. 
He  died  in  1880. 

PAGE  59. 

Robert  Buchanan,  the  well  -  known  British  poet  and 
most  genial  and  variously  gifted  man,  visited  America  in 
1884-85. 

PAGE  62. 

James  Fleming,  the  celebrated  Scottish  athlete,  was  born  at 
Tullymet,  Perthshire,  in  1840,  and  died  at  Melbourne,  Australia, 
in  1887.  For  more  than  twenty  years  he  was  a  competitor  at 
the  principal  athletic  gatherings  in  Scotland,  and  some  of  his 
performances  have  not  been  surpassed  by  any  other  athlete. 
He  visited  America  in  1871  and  was  received  with  much 
popular  favor.  The  following  are  the  records  made  by  him 
in  some  of  the  games :  At  Blair  Castle  Grounds,  Blair  Athole, 
in  1869,  he  put  the  22  Ib.  stone  backward  and  forward  38  feet, 
7  inches ;  at  Glenisla  Gathering  he  put  the  28  Ib.  stone  33 
feet,  8  inches;  at  Stonehaven,  in  1874,  he  put  the  16  Ib.  stone 
46  feet,  6  inches;  at  Tullymet,  in  1877,  he  threw  the  16  Ib. 
hammer,  standing  at  the  mark,  125  feet,  8  inches;  at  Stone- 
haven,  in  1876,  he  threw  56  Ib.  by  the  ring,  standing  at  the 
mark,  26  feet  8  inches.  He  also  won  many  prizes  at  running 
and  leaping  and  was  one  of  the  best  all-  around  athletes  of 
which  there  is  any  authentic  record. 


NOTES.  219 

PAGE  71. 

One  morning  during  the  sojourn  of  the  Highlanders  at  Port 
Royal  Ferry,  South  Carolina,  a  number  of  negro  refugees  pre 
sented  themselves  at  the  end  of  the  causeway,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Coosaw  River,  and  by  signs  indicated  their  desire 
to  be  brought  over.  Lieutenant  Dingwall  and  a  few  others  of 
the  Highlanders  jumped  into  a  boat,  captured  only  a  few  days 
before  from  the  enemy's  side,  and  rowed  across  the  three  hun 
dred  feet  of  rapid  current.  Thirteen  negroes  were  found, 
men,  women,  and  children.  As  the  boat  was  about  to  push 
off  the  enemy  discovered  what  was  going  on,  and  the  guard 
sounded  a  general  alarm.  The  Union  side  was  equally  alert, 
and  the  refugees  were  safely  landed  on  the  side  of  freedom. 
The  gratitude  of  the  negroes  was  unbounded.  This  incident 
occurred  nearly  a  year  before  President  Lincoln's  Proclamation 
of  Emancipation. 

PAGE  77. 

The  incident  related  in  the  verses  occurred  as  described. 
The  assault  on  the  Confederate  works  at  Secessionville,  James 
Island,  was  made  by  General  Stevens'  division,  consisting  of 
the  8th  Michigan,  7th  Connecticut,  28th  Massachusetts,  48th 
New  York,  79th  (Highlanders)  New  York,  and  the  100th 
Pennsylvania  regiments.  The  division  advanced  during  the 
night  in  the  order  named.  The  8th  Michigan  and  the  79th 
New  York  reached  the  works  and  took  possession  of  the  bat 
teries,  but  were  recalled  on  account  of  the  other  regiments 
failing  to  advance  to  their  support.  The  two  brothers  referred 
to,  William  and  Robert  Tofts,  were  members  of  the  79th.  One 
was  killed  during  the  battle ;  the  other,  returning  to  look  for 
his  brother's  body,  was  also  killed. 

The  Charleston  Mercury,  in  its  account  of  the  battle,  refer 
ring  to  the  Highlanders,  used  this  language :  "  It  was  left  to  the 
valiant  Paladins  of  the  North,  to  the  brave  79th  Highlanders, 
to  test  the  virtue  of  unadulterated  cold  steel  on  our  Southern 
nerves;  but  they  terribly  mistook  their  foe,  for  they  were 
rolled  back  in  a  tide  of  blood.  Thank  God !  Lincoln  has,  or 
had,  only  one  79th  regiment,  for  there  is  only  a  remnant  left 
to  tell  the  tale. 


220  NOTES. 

"The  soldiers  who  can  make  such  a  charge,  and  those  who 
can  stand  it,  their  conditions  being  equal,  are  the  parties 
to  win  a  war." 

The  total  loss  of  the  Highlanders  in  this  engagement,  in 
killed  and  wounded,  was  110,  about  one-fourth  of  the 
strength  of  the  regiment  at  that  time. 

PAGE    85. 

James  Clement  Moffat  was  a  native  of  Gallowayshire, 
Scotland,  where  he  was  born  on  May  30,  1811.  From  his 
tenth  to  his  sixteenth  year  he  was  a  shepherd  on  the  hills 
of  Galloway.  He  learned  the  printer's  trade  in  Edinburgh, 
and  emigrated  to  America  in  1832.  Principal  Maclean,  of 
Princeton,  induced  him  to  enter  the  Princeton  College, 
where  he  graduated  in  1835.  For  over  fifty  years  he  was 
esteemed  as  one  of  the  most  eminent  scholars  and  teachers 
in  that  institution.  In  1888  he  was  made  Professor  Eme 
ritus.  He  was  a  gifted  and  prolific  writer.  He  died  at 
Princeton,  New  Jersey,  June  7,  1890. 


GLOSSARY. 


The  a  in  Scottish  words,  except  when  forming  a  dipthhong, 
or  followed  by  an  e  mute  after  a  single  consonant,  sounds  like 
the  broad  English  a  in  wall.  The  Scottish  diphthongs  ia,  ei,  and 
ie  sounds  like  ee  in  English ;  ch  and  gh  final  in  Scottish  words 
have  always  the  guttural  sound  as  in  the  German ;  d  and  g 
final  after  n  are  never  sounded.  The  French  u,  a  sound 
which  often  occurs  in  the  Scottish  language,  is  generally 
written  oo  or  ui.  The  English  sound  of  oo  is  marked  ou  in 
Scottish.  The  Scottish  diphthong  a  e,  always  sounds  like  the 
French  &  acute . 

A  An',  and. 

Ance,  once. 

A',  all.  Ane,  one 

Aboon,  above.  Aneiich,  enough. 

Ae,  one.  Antrin,  occasional. 

Aff,  off.  Auld,  old. 

Afore,  before.  Auld- f arrant,  old-fashioned. 

Aft,  often.  Ava,  at  all. 

Ahint,  behind.  Aiva',  away. 

Ain,  own.  Awesome,  frightful. 
Aith,  oath. 
Air,  early. 
Airt,   direction,   point  of  the  Ba',  ball. 

compass.  Bairns,  children. 

Amang,  among.  Baith,  both. 

Amaist,  almost.  Ballant,  ballad. 

221 


222 


GLOSSARY. 


Banes,  bones. 

Bannock,  a  flat,  round  cake. 

Bannin,  swearing. 

Bauchles,  old  shoes. 

Banks,  beams. 

Bauld,  bold. 

Bawbee,  half -penny. 

Ben,  the  spence,  or  parlor. 

Betheral,  a  church  officer  or 

sexton. 
Ee.uk,  book. 
Bickerin,  running. 
Bide,  wait. 
Billie,  fellow. 
Birdie,  diminutive  of  bird. 
Birselt,  broiled. 
Bittie,  a  small  bit. 
Bizzin,  buzzing. 
Elate,  bashful. 

Blatter,  to  start  off  suddenly. 
Blaw,  to  blow. 
Blether, to  talk  idly. 
Blink,  to  shine  by  fits. 
Blobs,  blisters. 
Bluid,  blood. 
Bodie,  a  person. 
Bogle,  a  spectre. 
Bonnie,  beautiful,  handsome. 
Bonnilie,  beautifully. 
Brae,  slope  of  a  hill. 
Braid,  broad. 
Braw,  fine,  gayly  dressed. 
Brawly,  finely,  heartily. 
Brither,  brother. 
Brods,  boards. 
Buckie,  a  sea  shell,  a  refractory 

person. 


Butter,  a  loud  noise. 
Buirdly,  stout,  broad  built. 
Bumbees,  wild  bees. 
Burnie,  a  streamlet. 
Busk,  to  dress. 
Byke,  a  nest  or  habitation. 
Bykit,   hived  or  gathered  to 
gether. 


Ca',  call. 

Caber,  a  young  tree  after  be 
ing  cut  down. 
Caller,  fresh. 
Cam',  came. 
Cankert,  ill-tempered. 
Canna,  cannot. 
Cannie,  gentle,  dexterous. 
Cantrip,  a  trick,  a  spell. 
Canty,  lively,  cheerful. 
Carl,  an  old  man . 
Catwittit,  hairbrained. 
Cauf-love,  first  love. 
Cauld,  cold. 

Cauldrife,  susceptible  to  cold. 
Chafts,  the  jaws. 
Chiel,  a  young  man. 
Chirkit,  grinding  the  teeth. 
Chow,  to  chew. 
Chuckie,  a  hen. 
Claes,  clothes. 
Clash,  idle  talk. 
deeds,  to  clothe. 
Cleckin,  a  brood  of  birds. 
Clinkit,  denoting  alertness. 
Clocking,  hatching. 
Cloitet,  to  fail  or  sit  down. 


GLOSSARY. 


223 


Cog,  a  wooden  dish. 

Coo/,  a  blockhead. 

Couthy,  kind,  loving. 

C&wpit,  tumbled. 

Crack,  conversation. 

Craig,  the  throat. 

Craw,  to  crow. 

Creeshie,  greasy. 

Crokonition,  destruction. 

Cronach,  a  mournful  song. 

Croon,  to  sing. 

Grouse,  cheerful,  courageous. 

Cruds,  curds. 

Crusie,  a  lamp. 

D 

Dacklin,  sticking. 
Daffln,  merry. 
Daft,  giddy,  foolish. 
Daunder,  to  wander. 
Daur,  to  dare. 
Daurna,  dare  not. 
Dawted,  fondled,  caressed. 
Dearie,  a  sweetheart. 
Deave,  to  am.oy. 
Dee,  to  die. 
Deil,  the  devil. 
Ding,  to  overcome. 
Dinna,  do  not. 
Dirl,  a  vibration. 
Doilt,  a  stupid  person. 
Doitet,  confused. 
Dominie,  a  schoolmaster. 
Dool,  sorrow. 
Doos,  doves. 
Dosent,  stupid. 
Douce,  sober,  prudent, 


Down,  down. 
Dour,  stubborn. 
Dowff,  melancholy. 
Dowie,  sad. 

Drammack,  meal  and  water. 
Drap,  drop 

Dree,  to  suspect,  to  endure. 
Dreich,  tedious,  lingering. 
Dreep,  drippings. 
Droukit,  drenched. 
Drouth,  thirst,  draught. 
Drucken,  drunken. 
Drumlie,  muddy,  troubled. 
Dub,  a  standing  pool 
Duds,  rags,  clothes. 
Dumfounded,  astonished. 
Dune,  done. 
Dunlin,  beating. 

E 

Ee  or  e'e,  the  eye. 
Een,  the  eyes. 

Eerie,     haunted,      dreading 
spirits 


Fa',  fall. 
Fae,  foe. 
Fash,  trouble. 
Fashions,  troublesome. 
Fecht,  fight. 
Feckless,  useless. 
Feckly,  mostly. 
Fegs,  an  exclamation  of  sur 
prise. 

Fient,  never. 
Fit,  foot 


224 


GLOSSARY. 


Flaffer,  flutter 

Flee,  fly, 

Fleg,  to  frighten. 

Flit,  to  change,  to  remove. 

Flypin,  hanging  loosely. 

Forbye,  besides. 

Forfouchten,  fatigued. 

Fu',  or  foil,  full,  drunk. 

Fusion,  power. 

Fusionless,  powerlesa 

Fyke,  trifling  cares. 

G 

Gae,  to  go. 

Galore,  plenty. 

Gaed,  went. 

Gane,  gone. 

Gaun,  going. 

Gangrel,  a  wandering  person. 

Gar,  to  compel. 

Gate,  way,  manner,  road. 

Gaunt,  to  yawn,  to  long  for. 

Gawkie,  a  thoughtless  person. 

Gear,  riches,  goods. 

Ghaist,  a  ghost. 

Gie,  to  give. 

Gied,  given. 

Gin,  if. 

Girnin,  grinning,  fault-finding 

Glaiket,  inattentive,  foolish. 

Glint,    a    glance,  a  transient 

gleam. 

Gloamin,  evening. 
Glower,  to  stare. 
Glunch,  to  frown. 
Gowd,  gold. 
Gowk,  term  of  contempt,  the 

cuckoo. 


Graith,  accoutrements. 
Grane,  to  groan. 
Grat,  to  weep,  to  shed  tears. 
Grip,  to  take  hold  of. 
Gruesome,  loathsome,  grim. 
Guffaw   burst  of  laughter. 
Gude,  the  Supreme  Being. 
Guid,  good. 

Guidman,  husband  or  head  of 
a  family. 


Ha',  hall. 

Hae,  have. 

Haen,  had. 

Haena,  have  not. 

Haggis,   a  kind  of  a    pudding 

boiled  in  the  stomach  of  a 

sheep. 

Hale,  whole. 
Halesome.  wholesome. 
Hallan,  a  partition  in  a  house. 
Hame,  home. 

Hameowre,  rustic,  homely. 
Hankit,  tightened. 
Hap,  to  cover. 
Harigalds,     heart,    liver    and 

lights  of  an  animal. 
Harl,  to  drag  roughly. 
Hand,  to  hold. 

Haudin,  holding  or  habitation. 
Haverel,  foolish  person. 
Haugh,  low-lying  land. 
HerseV,  herself. 
Het,  hot. 

Heeze,  to  raise  up. 
Heigh,  high. 


GLOSSARY. 


225 


Hirplin,    creeping,    walking 

crazily. 

Hizzie,  a  young  woman. 
Howe,  a  hollow  or  dale. 
Howff,  rendezvous. 
Hunkers,  haunches. 
Hurdles,  the  buttocks. 
Hurklin,    drawing  the  body 

together. 


T,  in. 
Hk,  each. 
Ilka,  every. 
Ither,  other. 
Ingans,  onions. 
It  lane,  alone. 
Itsel',  itself. 


Jaud,  a  giddy  young  woman. 
Jaw,  rush  or  splash  of  water. 
Jeel,  jelly. 

Jockie-blindty,\)lind.ma,n's  buff. 
Joyfu',  joyful. 
Jimpy,  small. 


Kail ,  cole-wort,  a  kind  of  broth. 
Kaimed,  combed. 
Ken,  to  know. 
Kent,  known,  knew. 
Kimmer,  a  young  woman. 
Kintra,  country. 
Kittle,  difficult,  ticklish. 
Kittled,  tickled. 
Kittlin,  kitten. 


Kirnin,  searching. 
Kowes,  broom. 
Kye,  cows. 
Kythe,  to  be  manifest. 


Laddie,  diminutive  of  lad. 

Laigh,  low. 

Laird,  a  land  owner. 

Laith,  loath. 

Lang,  long. 

Lang-nebbit,  long-beaked. 

Langsome,  wearisome. 

Langsyne,  long  since. 

Lap,  to  leap. 

Lassie,  diminutive  of  lass. 

Lave,  the  rest,  the  others. 

Lear,  learning. 

Laverock,  the  skylark. 

Lee-lang,  live  long. 

Leeze,  a  phrase  of  congratula 
tion. 

Leal,  loyal,  true,  faithful. 

Lift,  sky,  firmament. 

Lightsome,  gladsome,  cheerful. 

Lilts,  cheerful  songs. 

Linn,  a  cataract. 

Lintie,  the  linnet. 

Lo'e,  love. 

Loof,  the  open  hand. 

Loot,  let. 

Loun,  a  young  fellow. 

Loupin,  leaping. 

Loupit,  leaped. 

Lowse,  to  unloose. 

Luckie,  a  designation  given  to 
an  elderly  woman. 


226 


GLOSSARY. 


Lugs,  ears. 

Owreby,  over  at  the  other  side 

Lum,  the  chimney. 

P 

M 

Pang,  to  cram. 

Mair,  more. 

Pawky,  cunning. 

Mak,  make. 

Pech,  to  breathe  hard. 

Mane,  moan. 

Peeries,  spinning  tops. 

Mauchtless,  helpless. 

Plash,  to  strike  water  forcibly. 

Maun,  must. 

Ploy,  a  frolic. 

Maunna,  must  not. 

Poek,  a  bag. 

Marrows,  equals. 

Pouch,  a  pocket. 

Mirk,  dark. 

Pow,  poll. 

Mither,  mother. 

Prick-the-louse,  a  tailor. 

Mools,  earth. 

Preen,  a  pin. 

Mony,  many. 

Puckle,  a  small  quantity. 

Mou,  the  mouth. 

Puddock,  a  frog. 

Moudywarts,  moles. 

Puir,  poor. 

Muckle,  large, 

Mummlet,  muttered. 

Q 

Mump,  to  mince. 

Quo',  said. 

MyseF,  myself. 

K 

N 

Rantin,  noisy  mirth. 

Na,  no,  not. 

.Rao;,  to  stretch. 

Nae,  no,  not  any. 

-Reefc,  smoke. 

Naething,  nothing. 

Rift,  to  belch. 

Nane,  none. 

J2in,  to  run. 

Neb,  beak  or  bill. 

Rive,  to  tear. 

Neuk,  corner. 

Roose,  to  praise. 

Nick,  applied  to  the  devil 

.Row,  to  roll. 

Nip,  a  small  quantity. 

Rowth,  plenty. 

O 

Rungs,  pieces  of  wood. 

O',  of. 

S 

Ony,  any. 

Slab,  sob. 

Orra,  useless,  supernumerary. 

Sae,  so. 

Oursels,  ourselves. 

Saft,  soft. 

Owre,  over. 

Sair,  sore,  much. 

GLOSSARY. 


227 


Sairin,  serving  enough. 

Scarfed,  scratched. 

Scaith,  harm. 

Sclatch,  a  lubberly  fellow. 

Sclutter,  a  splash  as  of  mud. 

Scowder,  to  toast  hastily. 

Scraigh,  scream. 

Set,  self. 

Shaw,  a  wood. 

Shelf  a,  the  chaffinch. 

Shog,  to  jog,  to  shake. 

SJwggled,  shaken. 

Shoon,  shoes. 

Sic,  such. 

Siccan,  such  as. 

Siccar,  secure. 

Sitter,  silver. 

Sin,  since. 

Sin  syne,  since  then. 

Skelpit,  to  beat  with  the  open 

hand. 

Skelps,  pieces,  blows. 
Skeugh,  to  move  in  a  slanting 

direction. 
Skirl,  to  shriek. 
Skreed,  a  detached  piece. 
S:.\i/tc,  to  slide,  to  slip. 
Slacken,  to  slake,  to  quench. 
Slack,  loose,  wrinkled. 
Slee,  skillful,  dexterous. 
Slowth'd,  neglected. 
Sma,  small. 
Snaw,  snow. 
Sough,  a  rushing  sound. 
Souter,  a  shoemaker 
Spak,  to  speak. 
Spang,  to  spring. 


Spung,  to  spring  violently 

Speelin,  climbing. 

Speer,  to  usk,  to  inquire. 

Spinks,  meadow-pinks. 

Splatches,  blotches. 

Sprauchle,  to  scramble. 

Stammack,  stomach. 

Stappit,  stopped,  filled. 

Steekit,  shut. 

Steer,  stir. 

Stend,  to  leap. 

Stieve,  firm,  compacted. 

Stirk,  a  steer. 

Stock,  one  whose  limbs  are 
stiffened  by  age. 

Stoups,  jugs. 

Stour,  dust  in  motion. 

Straikit,  stroked,  smoothed. 

Strappin,  tall,  handsome,  vig 
orous. 

Straught,  straight. 

Streikit,  stretched. 

Swack,  pliant,  nimble. 

Swat,  sweated. 

Sunther,  hesitation,  wavering. 

Syne,  then. 


Tae,  one. 

Taes,  toes. 

Tak,  take. 

Tattie-dooly,  a    scarecrow  set 

in  a  potato  field. 
Tauld,  told. 
Tent,  care,  heed. 
Teuch,  tough. 
Thae,  these. 


228  GLOSSARY. 

Thowe,  a  thaw.  Warsle,  wrestle. 

Thrangen,  thronging.  Wastrife,  wasting. 

Thr (neither,  confused.  Wat,  wet. 

Thrawart,  perverse,  obstinate.  Waublin,  unsteady  motion. 

Thraived,  twisted.  Wauch,  low,  immoral. 

Thuddin,  striking.  Waught,  a  draught. 

Til,  to.  Wauken,  awake. 

Tinkler,  a  wandering  tinkler.     Waur,  worse. 

Tint,  lost.  Wean,  child. 

TYrr-Hm'rs.habitual  complaints.  Wee,  little,  small. 

Tither,  the  other.  Weel,  well. 

Tod  or  tod-loiwie,  the  fox.         Weel-faur'd,  well  favored. 

Toom,  empty.  Weel  I  wat,  well  I  wot. 

Towsie,  dishevelled.  Werena,  were  not. 

Trauchle,  fatiguing  exertion.     Wha,  who. 

Tryst,  engagement.  Whaur,  where. 

Tummle,  tumble.  Whazzlin,  wheezing. 

Tyke,  an  odd  or  strange  person.  Wheesht,  hush. 

Twa,  two.  Whummle,  turn  over. 

Tivalmonth,  twelve  months.      Wi',  with. 

Widdie,  a  rope  made  of  twigs 
Wimplin,  meandering. 

Unco,  strange.  Winna,  will  not. 

Winsome,  gay,  attractive. 
V  Wiss,  wish. 

Vaig,  a  vagrant.  Worn  awa',  passed  away. 

Vera  or  Verra,  very.  Wrang,  wrong. 

Vow,  an  interjection  expressive  Wratch,  wretch, 
of  surprise.  Wyte,  blame. 

W  Y 

Wa',  wall.  Yaird,  garden, 

Wad,  would.  Yeuk,  itch. 

Waefu',  woful.  Yeukie,  itchy. 

Waff,  a  puff.  Yill,  ale. 

Waft,  weft.  Yird,  earth. 

Wame,  the  belly.  Yont,  beyond. 

Wanworth,  unworthy.  Yoursel',  yourself. 

Warlock,  wizard.  Yule,  Christmas. 


Opinions  of  tbc  Scottish  Press  on  mr.  Kennedy's  Poems. 

"As  the  effusions  of  a  Scot  abroad,  they  truly,  in 
their  exquisite  humor,  original  and  rich  thought, 
tender  pathos  and  vivid  description,  remind  the  Cale 
donian  of  his  country's  Burns  and  Tannahill.  We 
claim  the  author  as  Scotland's  own,  and  stamp  him 
at  once  a  true  exponent  of  her  Doric  language  and 
her  deep,  poetic  soul.  Poems,  songs  and  character 
sketches  such  as  these  are  not  to  be  met  with  every 
day.  They  are  scarce  indeed. " — Border  Advertiser. 

"The  pieces  which  we  like  the  best  are  character 
sketches  in  the  Caledonian  Doric,  which  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  employs  with  classic  propriety." — Dumfries 
Standard. 

"The  reader  cannot  fail  to  be  struck  with  the  ele 
gance  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  versification,  his  command 
of  appropriate  epithets,  and  his  mastery  of  the  Scottish 
dialect.  His  pieces  are  eminently  original,  and  the 
tenderness  and  humor  manifested  in  them  will  com 
mend  them  to  every  lover  of  Scottish  poetry." — Kelso 
Chronicle. 

"He  is  a  fine,  kindly,  pawky  chiel,  Mr.  Kennedy, 
and  it  is  pleasant  to  hear  him  sing,  as  if  he  were  sit 
ting  under  the  gleaming  eye  of  the  Scottish  lion,  and 
not  under  the  voluminous  folds  of  the  star-spangled 
banner." — Glasgow  Herald. 

"It  is  exceedingly  gratifying  to  find  that  the  Scot 
tish  Muse  has  in  America  so  devoted  and  successful 
a  wooer  as  Mr.  Kennedy.  He  has  clearly  the  real 
stuff  in  him.  All  the  characteristics  of  true  Scottish 
poetry — simplicity,  tenderness,  pathos  and  humor — 
will  be  found  in  his  work. ' ' — Stirling  Observer. 

"His  humorous  and  character  sketches  bristle  with 
funny  phrases  and  turns  of  thought.  His  love  and 
pastoral  pieces  are  especially  successful." — Fifeshire 
Journal. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9 — 15m-10,'48(B1039)444 


UNIVERSITY  at  CALIFORNIA 

AT 
LOS  ANGELES 


IIP  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

™  „  -*-  -   1I1IWIIIIIII 

2159  A  A      000033411    o 


PS 

2159 

K91s 


!     I 


Hi 


